Six goals to Dreaming
by RockStar1202
Summary: Alfred's mere presence in Arthur's apartment should count as one goal. The fact he was almost naked, another. And the fact he was oh-so-seductively sucking on a finger as a yet another. Arthur relaxed. The score was 6 to 0. He was officially dreaming.
1. Bad Vision

Hey all, this is my first fanfic so be gentle:)

I don't own Hetalia. Alas!

* * *

_Why should I see whose vision showed me nothing sweet to see?_

Arthur woke with a pounding headache. How cliché. In fact it was not pounding. The verb wasn't quite violent enough. It felt like some sort of brain earthquake. A brain-quake? No. He hadn't thought of a description that awful since primary school. Liquified innards of the head? This was much too American, but closer to reality. Dismal rainy daylight pierced the apartment window, and stabbed him in the eyes. Yes that was closer to the violence thus inflicted by this particular hangover. The gray curtains had been parted sometime before and were therefore useless against the onslaught of daytime. Somewhere passed the blood pumping in his ears and swirls of light in his eyes, he was aware of a warm body next to him in his bed. The heavy breathing and the faint smell of a familiar aftershave told him the presence was very much male. Arthur stuffed his head into the pillow and groaned. Bollocks.

Arthur Kirkland lived happily (or one might even say gaily) as president of his college's Gay Student Alliance, so the situation of an unknown man sleeping next to him was hardly unusual. Ah the GSA. A dated term to be sure. Still every time he attempted to drag the club kicking and screaming into the new millennium, the campus at large ignored all changes and continued calling it ye olde GSA. Ah well, what's in a name? It was clear to everyone on campus, nay the whole city, what the GSA was about. He had become quite the agitator, raising issues of homosexuality with politicians, both local and national, and organizing oh-so-many protests, rallies, sit-ins, parades, and, well, all of the above actually.

People say he is fierce.

Well, after they say he is British. Stupid Americans. Often it takes more than thirty seconds for these Yanks to hear what he is trying to communicate simply because they are enamored with his English accent. He often had this recurring nightmare, appearing before congress, or speaking with the president:

* * *

Arthur: Now you can see Mr. President, this is a life or death issue. Failing to act now will only result in the increased polarity of-

President: Hey, are you British?

Arthur: What? Mr. President my nationality is irrelevant. I am merely trying to bring your attention to-Mr. President are you even listening?

President: I like your accent. Where are you from in England?

Arthur: Buckingham Palace. Mr. President could we PLEASE get back to the subject at hand?!

President: What? Oh yes, please continue.

* * *

Tossers.

Wankers.

Nationality is a load of rot anyway. Essentially one's nationality is the place in which you fall out of your mum. Who cares where you're born?

Still, being British has it's attributes. Well British and stylish. Throughout the aforementioned rallies, protests, parades etc. he had attained something of a 'Bono' like status on campus. He was identified by his black skinny jeans (still somewhat baggy on his lanky frame) black silver studded leather belt, and his obligatory black and red checkered armband on his left wrist, which was sometimes matched on the right. The rings, piercings, and band t-shirts came and went, as did the eyeliner, black lipstick and the oh-so-many colors of hair dye. Now being a junior he sported two earrings on his left ear and one silver skull ring on his left middle finger. His hair had grown back to it's normal blond shade and thanked him by cooperating with the many hair spray spiking/mussing treatments.

Point being, because he was out, loud, proud, foreign, and stylish, there were quite a few gay men out there who wanted to shag him. He had actually been quite shocked with the sudden popularity freshmen year, and found out rather quickly that he a) was great at sex , b) horrible at relationships, and c) didn't like celebrity status.

By necessity, he adopted a celibate lifestyle sophomore year and continued a quiet routine, reading often, running for the track team, and avoiding all people he was not intending to lecture. Kiku, his roommate and incidental confident, was perhaps the only person on Earth he could truly tolerate. Perhaps it was because Kiku was also quiet and reserved...but really there was no rhyme or reason for their friendship. Kiku was history major, treasurer of the GSA, and bi-sexual. He made it clear the moment they met that he preferred only Asians. They had been best friends ever since the 'let's-never-be-fuck-buddies' rule. There was also Francis. Francis he only tolerated because there were so few ways to make him leave. Francis was a junior philosophy major, very, VERY, bi sexual, and vice president of the GSA -but only because of various insinuations that he would blackmail Arthur if he didn't appoint him as much. It worked.

The only problem with Arthur's otherwise monk-like existence was d) he liked to drink, e) he could NOT hold his liqueur (as much as he hated to admit it) and f) this led to many a regrettable one night stands.

Arthur was wrenched to the present moment. The boy next to him snorted, shifted, then continued his deep measured breathing.

F for fool.


	2. Wise Fool

Will the identity of the one-night-stand boy be reveled? Stay tuned.

Nope. Still don't own Hetalia._  
_

* * *

_A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a wise man knows himself to be a fool. _

Arthur was a fool. Arthur buried his head further in the pillow not daring to look. Still the memories of the party trickled to the forefront of his mind. With Kiku gone abroad, Arthur had been spending his evenings quietly doing homework (he was an English major—one cannot escape all stereotype), reading, practicing for track (yes he was an athlete- a selfish one as he only participated to keep his lean figure; well that and he was a damn good sprinter) and taking on extra projects for the GSA. Francis (the annoying, loud, and all round prat) had waltzed in the day before with the spare key he had stolen months ago and practically threw him out.

The door to the apartment flew open and the man flounced in like he bally well owned the place.

"Arthur, you 'ave shut yourself away again! Why wait for the inevitable demise. Rise an meet your 'umanity!" An ironical statement considering the Frog was a philosophy major who favored existentialists.

Led Zeppelin sounded from some hidden stereo, buried beneath a mountain range of books taking over the tiny common space. Arthur was curled in the armchair reading Keats for class. He turned a page and with out looking muttered a forceful "Shove off."

Francis unearthed the stereo and killed the Zeppelin muttering something about "Oh ze 'umanity." He disappeared into Arthur's bedroom and emerged with Arthur's eyeliner and his red Man U t-shirt.

"Ah but Arthur, today let us Eat Drink and make Merry. It is Friday. You 'ave the 'ole weekend for your dreary English poets, no?"

"Francis, I know your head is thick and your understanding of modern men rivals most of the Neanderthals of your country but you really must stick it up your-"

With that, Francis lifted the chair and poured Arthur on the floor and tossed him the shirt.

"Surely I am not a Neanderthal compared to this caveman. 'ow many days 'as it been since you have ventured out? When was the last time you attended one of the great parties zis campus 'as to offer?"

Arthur was silent. Curse of the introvert indeed. With Kiku gone, he had no one else to pry him from his books. Annoying though his efforts were, Francis had a point. Left with his own mutterings, curses, and lack of excuses, Arthur changed his shirt and allowed the Frog to apply the eyeliner.

Francis then handed him his bejeweled flask, and Arthur took a deep fortifying swig. The stuff was so strong Arthur made a mental note to avoid all booze for the rest of the evening.

Cheerio.

* * *

It was a party thrown by the chemistry and physics department called something less than dishy...what was it? 'The Gravity of Chemistry'? Horrid. Then again, such students were not commonly blessed with gifts of creativity nor lingual eloquence. The chemistry students made the beer and the physics students created the black and neon lighting for the dance, a la 'rave'. Apparently the costume of choice was 'mad scientist' gone gangster. Almost everyone was wearing some semblance of a laboratory coat saturated with various combinations of chains, studs, glitter, glow sticks, and paint. The party was held in 'the cave,' a basement laboratory beneath a refurbished warehouse just off campus.

Arthur was staying true to his previous inclination, choosing to avoid the booze by drinking a coke in the corner and telling people he was a DD. No one believed him. Everyone knew he didn't have a U.S. License or a car. He didn't care. It felt nice to be surrounded by people and not be required to lecture at anyone. Francis always said he speaks better to 1000 people than 1 person. Partly true. Arthur cared not for the superficial drivel of pointless tea-time chit chat.

Arthur turned from the lab table serving drinks in beakers to watch the dance floor. The crowd was throbbing to the beat of some electronic-techno pulse provided by some amateur DJ or another. Of course, get the crowd drunk enough and it won't matter the level of experience of said DJ. Then he spotted why Francis had chosen to drag him to _this_ party on _this_ night.

* * *

Arthur was wrenched back to the present once again. A chilly feeling crawled up Arthur's spine. No... He didn't... he couldn't have. The boy was straight and would never...Arthur pulled his head out of his pillow and glanced at the other side of the bed. There, tangled in the sheets, was the most beautiful naked blond boy. The gloomy daylight of a stormy Saturday morning gleamed on creamy skin. The boy was laying on his stomach arms curled around the pillow, hair mussed, back exposed, and sheets swathed around his waist. Glorious.

A jolt stronger than a shot from the flask of Francis and more like high voltage electricity, reached from Arthur's throat to his heart then straight to his loins. Oh shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. The words bubbled to the front of his brain and realization hit with full force.

Alfred.


	3. Don't Panic

_Keep calm and carry on. _

Arthur jumped away in horror and fell off the edge of the bed. Ignoring the bumps and bruises, easily attained in the dark light of a small bedroom, he busied himself with any of the scattered clothing he could gather and ran to the kitchen. He lept into his jeans, without boxers, and then pulled on a random wool sweater, grabbed his old red converses, keys, wallet, and ran out of his own apartment. Yes running. He was good at that. Run away.

On this campus, there is one person Arthur avoids at all cost. Alfred F. Jones. The prized pupil of the physics department, champion QB on the football team even as a freshman, all round ladies man, natural leader, life of all parties, and in general the freshman campus king. Well, STRAIGHT campus king. No one could be more opposite of Alfred in personality, lifestyle, or interests as Arthur. Yet every time Arthur laid eyes on him, his heart stopped. Alfred was tall, muscled, tan, blond, and had ice blue eyes. The sight of Alfred sent Arthur's body back to his former teenage self.

Symptoms: his stomach ached, his breathing turned to gasps, and his legs turned to jelly.

Diagnosis: a ridiculously illogical delusion. Love.

Arthur's only strategy: never lay eyes on him. Francis was the only one keen enough to notice that Arthur, the most confrontational person on campus, was afraid to confront mr-most-charasmatic-freshman-ever.

* * *

Francis: Why are you afraid of monsieur 'bright eyes' mon cher? Is it because you 'ave finally succumbed to amor?

Arthur: Shut up you frog! I'll have a go at anyone.

Francis: Than here is your chance. He is coming this way.

Arthur: …I have to be in class.

Francis: I believe that I 'ave found your heel monsieur Achilles!

* * *

Things probably would never have gone so far if Arthur had not met the boy as a prospective student last year. The meeting itself was so improbable that he had trouble shaking the ludicrously hopeful idea that fate was somehow involved. Kiku, Arthur's long-time roommate and closest friend, normally worked for admissions and gave tours for prospective students. However, when he was unable to make it or fell ill (normally after long car rides with his Italian friend), Arthur would fill in.

It was on such a day, he met Alfred. At the time, Alfred was a couple inches shorter than Arthur and didn't have glasses. He wore some American football hoodie and baggy jeans. He had ipod headphones around his neck and between the undershirt and the hoodie there was a glimmer of some chain necklace. Such a stereotypical American. Blue-eyed, blond hair, square jaw, and broad shoulders. After lunch, Alfred's family departed, and left Alfred with Arthur. Arthur brought him to his first class, some science affair, and told him to meet at the library for coffee afterwords. Not twenty minutes after Arthur had settled with a pot of tea and his cyber newspapers a la Nook, Alfred re-appeared.

He sighed and flopped down in the chair across from Arthur. Arthur set down his Nook and searched for the words of idle chit-chat,_"_Did you not enjoy the class? Surely, it's not over yet."

"Don't call me Shirley."

Arthur stared blankly. Alfred laughed and then waved his hand as if to brush off Arthur's gauche response, "Missed reference. I get it. Tough crowd. Nah, I snuck out during the middle. The prof seems cool but I've already learned the material he's teaching."

Arthur could not decide if the boy was telling the truth or just trying to talk himself up. The boy had said it so 'matter-of-factly' that he couldn't tell. The boy sighed for the second time. Was he trying to create a breeze? Then he pulled off his hoodie revealing a plain wine colored t-shirt and army tags dangling from a chain. During the transition from hoodie to shirt, Arthur stole a glimpse of a well-wrought chest. He deftly moved his eyes to the coffee shop window, a move which he hoped signaled disinterest. Inside, his heart jumped up and down and a strange cartoon "Aaaahhh oooogaah!" sounded in his ears. He fought the teenage urge to smack himself in the face.

Instead, Arthur leaned forward folding his hands, like bloody masterpiece theater. "Really? Well I believe the class is a rather advanced level at this college. If you have already studied the material, then perhaps a more technical school would be more suitable. This is very much a, ah, liberal arts establishment." Somewhere in his brain, no doubt the more primitive side, tsked sadly. _That's no way to convince a such a beautiful young man to attend this academic establishment. _

The boy leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs and relaxed his arms on his head. "No, I really like this school and I'm fairly confident I would like to go here."

"Really?"

Damn. Arthur was sounding like a parrot now. He took a sip of his tea. Something about this boy unnerved him deep inside. Was it his good looks? Perhaps. The boy was very attractive. But from what he could discern, and his gaydar was the best on campus, he was straight. Very very straight. _Sure he's straight, but like a fine piece of art he should be displayed and enjoyed! _Am I really such a cretin? An image of Francis nodding his head appeared in his brain. Again, Arthur felt the need to smack himself.

"Why is it that a physics wizard such as yourself should feel compelled to unleash his talents on such an unworthy institution? Or why not skip college all together and go become a billionaire?"

The primitive side of his brain donned a cloak, hat, and codpiece, knelt and cried, _why must thou be so waspish? Why cannost thou be more like a gentle petal from a spring flower?_

Alfred seemed unphased. Instead he looked at Arthur, eyes sometimes searching just above his head for the right words. For that moment Arthur wondered if this boy hated the idle chit-chat as much as he did. It would explain the attempts to shake things up with humor and wardrobe kinesthetics. "I admire... the people here. They challenge the establishment and design their own destiny." Arthur blinked and stared. Another gauche response no doubt. Alfred looked down at the table and said quietly, "I want...something similar I guess. There is a destiny I wish to design and ...i think it's here." Alfred's eyes met Arthur's. Arthur's heart popped back on its pogo stick.

It was such a simple statement, yet somehow it opened a window to a searching soul. Alfred shrugged and eyed Arthur's tea. Arthur was quick to pick up the hint and was grateful for a distraction. He ordered a coffee and snack for the boy and watched him eat quickly. Arthur wasn't even sure if he identified the snack as a rice crispy bar before it disappeared from the world. Arthur was lucky enough to snatch his hand away fast enough.

"You have an elder brother who attends this college, correct?" Goal two for idle-chit chat. The boy swallowed his last bite and then leaped back into conversation.

"Yes. My big brother, well half brother, Mattie. Mathew Williams."

"Oh yes I know him, he's in the GSA with me."

He has a gay brother. He HAS a gay brother. He has a GAY brother. The primitive Arthur rolled in the possibilities: _what if...could he possibly...then if...why not..._The wiser brain kicked the primitive one in his proverbial shins. _Stop that. They are half brothers. He's not going here. And. He's. Not. Gay. You're just making it worse._

"Actually, in a way your brother's the one who got me involved in the first place."

"I heard all about it!"

The boy seemed to liven up quite a bit and launched into the story with much more heroism than befitted the moment.

"There you were a freshman, new man on a new campus. Here comes this good for nothing and, noticing my brother, flips his tray upside down and told him , 'Fuck off fag!' and then you went over and you were something like, 'uncultured git!' And then you totally laid him out! I mean it was—I mean I hear it was awesome."

Alfred paused and then looked down at his half-finished coffee.

"I've been wanting... to meet you in person since my brother told me about you."

Alfred looked up from under long eyelashes and his blue eyes connected with Arthur'. Arthur's heart pogo-ed faster than ever before. He wanted to be trapped in this gaze forever. He had heard many a retelling of that moment in the cafeteria, but this was the most animated version, and truthful. Most versions involved him jumping up on a table and giving impassioned speeches to the cafeteria about the campus' bullying of homosexuals. After the flattery sank in, Arthur laughed. He laughed long and hard. He laughed at this new groupie and he laughed at this situation. He attempted, and failed, to laugh off the feeling that came with this boy's final statement. Alfred grinned at him.

Damn that stupid grin.

"I don't know what to say to that except thanks for your support I suppose. A bit ironic to fight against bullying by decking an American footballer in the face I suppose."

Damn. He was parroting again. Had he been this nervous speaking with the mayor of the city?

"So, why are you working admissions? I thought for sure you'd be out saving the world."

"You know, saving the world is not so easy as all that, to be sure. Tackling the system, as I do, turns young folk old fast. How about you? Are you going to use your scientific prowess for the forces of good?"

"Check this out."

The boy held up his army tags. Also on the chain was a gold ring.

"These are from my two Grandfathers. The first died as a fighter pilot, bombing Nazis in Germany. These are his dog tags. The second died of infection during the time of the Korean War. This was his wedding ring."

Arthur noticed the sudden charged solemnity in the boy. "I'm sorry to hear about your Grandfathers. Why a wedding ring?"

"He was a conscientious objector and the government gave him the choice to fight and get paid or to stay and work at a hospital as an orderly for no pay. He chose to work in the hospital. He kept careful documents of the unhygienic ways of hospital because he didn't really believe the hospital treated its patients well. Lots of neglect and such. He sent his documents to the local lawyers and they declined the case. Too much money wrapped up in that hospital. Eventually, he and a few others, managed to call for a federal inspection of the place. The inspection and the documents were enough to shut it down for weeks. Several of the higher ups were fired, and a full revamping ensued. Turned it into a fine establishment and is a much nicer place now. He's a hero. Both of my Grandfathers are actually."

Arthur could hear the pride in his voice and discern the desire to follow in the footsteps of his fore-fathers.

"I think it speaks to your wisdom to keep such trinkets close to you."

"You're talking like a detached old man you know. You weren't kidding about leadership turning you gray."

Arthur winced at the sudden and sly attack on his age. Alfred laughed. A loud booming laugh far to big for for a short boy in a small coffeeshop.

"These are two trinkets I can keep or lose, doesn't really matter. They are reminders that this push and pull of life and destruction for good are in my blood. I like physics, and I think I would be rather beneficial to the military one day. But I am not entirely sure if the military is the place for the hero I want to become. After all Einstein was very beneficial to the military and a lot of people died by his knowledge."

"I see what you mean. You have a lot of talent, but you wish to determine how to do the most good with your abilities."

"Just a second reason why I need this particular liberal arts institution."

"You won't find too many questioning the roots of morality in the physics department. You should chat with my acquaintance Francis in the philosophy department. Wait, isn't your brother also in that major?"

Alfred nodded

"He's also an art minor. No doubt born to be a poor Canadian bohemian."

"Well he won't be alone. People don't come to this institution to be rich monetarily, that's for sure. What was the first reason?"

"First reason for what?"

"You said that your pondering of morality and talent are just another reason you need liberal arts. What was the first? I must have been miles away."

"Oh yeah...I guess I did."

Alfred was silent and staring yet again into Arthur's eyes. Arthur, for some reason, felt really awkward that he had asked. He also felt that he didn't want to know. Thankfully, Matthew showed up at that exact moment to spirit Alfred away to the next activity. Their parting was brief and Arthur filed the whole meeting away as something inexplicable that need never be trifled with; because there would be no way a boy with as much genius as he claims should come to such an academic institution, morality complex or no. Physics was not even the strongest department at this school. Why would he come here? Arthur shook his head. The meeting haunted his dreams.

* * *

Arthur flew down the stairs jumping the last five. He wobbled a bit on the landing before choosing a direction, and sprinted off into the stormy rain of Saturday. His heart resumed it's pogo rhythm, while his wise mind repeated to itself that age old mantra from that sage Douglas Adams:

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.


	4. Truly Moved

Hey all! The beginning comments are mostly from Shakespeare in case you wanted to know. "Moved" in this context means angry according to wikipedia. I believe it's more like emotionally heightened, though. To much emotion to confront.

Also, i still don't own Hetalia, so please don't sue.

* * *

_To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand; therefore, if thou art mov'd, thou runst away. _

The next year Alfred, impossibly, arrived as a freshmen. And Arthur, mr-fierce, ran away every time he saw him. It's just that, well, every time he saw Alfred, his palms grew sweaty and his knees started wobbling. It was physically painful, and embarrassing. He felt like some school girl trapped in a rom-com. He hated himself for it. He felt spineless, weak,-banjaxed as his brother Alastair would say.

They had only two interactions since their first meeting. The first was in the library, sometime during the first month of school. Alfred saw Arthur and waved at him enthusiastically. Arthur could not believe his eyes. The mouth went dry and the heart puttered.

Arthur answered a deep question rather quickly. Could he be in any way friends with a straight man he was this attracted too? No. He had never been this attracted to anyone before in his life, straight or gay. It was positively visceral how much he wanted to smash his lips into Alfreds, rip his shirt off, and make sweet love to him right there on the library floor. What god hated him so much to make a specimen with such a true soul straight? Ah, the ladies of the campus must be saying their prayers tonight. Could he at least be civil to the man? After all, Alfred had hardly done anything to be deserving of Arthur's famously foul humor. Perhaps he could be civil, but with great difficulty. Actually, best to chase him off now to save some of the effort of avoiding him in the future. He decided to go with the egotist persona:

Therefore Arthur feigned surprise and mild distaste at Alfred's approach.

"'Ello there. Who are you? "

Alfred appeared undaunted, except for a small awkward cough.

"I'm Alfred! We met last year I was a prospective student. I know I've grown a bit and have glasses now. Been fighting the eye doc for years but the books finially got to me. Went all at once senior year. Still Mattie says they suit me. What do you think?"

Arthur gazed at him blankly and allowed for the awkward silence to fall. Alfred shifted uncomfortably.

"Oh right. Fred."

"Alfred..."

"Well Alfredo, I should hardly know about the fashion styles of spectacles. I'm usually a fan of avoiding all spectacles, lest it be for the common good."

The bloke seemed rather confused and deflated. Good.

"Well then...welcome to college. Hope all goes well with your history major." Arthur turned away and started walking. Alfred fell in step with him. Arthur shot him a nasty 'how-dare-you-step-into-my-presence' glare.

"Physics actually. Hey you want to catch up sometime?"

What was wrong with this fellow? Was he completely unaware of social cues? Perhaps the boy only wanted a well known upperclassman to inflate his clout. He hadn't considered this before. The idea. Could be true. Civility be damned. Time to go rammy.

"Sorry Alfonze, no can do. You see ah, you're really not my type, love. I already have enough fan boys. You're welcome to join the GSA but really, I won't be seeing you around this year as I'm a junior and you're a freshmen. Still, chin up, eh? We can't all have celebrity friends."

Arthur gently slapped Alfred's face and walked away, attempting to ignore the simultaneously angry and hurt expression on the boy's face and his own suddenly jellied stomach.

The primitive side of Arthur's brain cried, _what did you do? You've sunk us into misery!_

_Shut up! _Arthur yelled at his brain. _I only have to avoid him for two years, then this too shall pass._

The second interaction happened only a few weeks before the whole dreadful party incident, when Arthur rounded a corner and almost smashed into the boy. Alfred had just finished drinking from the hallway water fountain. The droplets of water were still trickling down his chin. Alfred's left hand trailed away from his face in the half attempt to wipe the water away. His eyes drew in Arthur's body and then grew with recognition. The heat rose to Arthur's face. For one awkward moment he couldn't speak. Thoughts escaped him and his chest sucked in air. The boy swallowed the last gulp of water, Arthur drank in the movement of Alfred's adam's apple. Just as the boy opened his mouth to say something, Arthur beat him to the chase.

"'Ello there. Sorry about smashing into you old chap! I'm in a bit of a rush so if you will excuse me..."

Run away. Hope he didn't notice. Run away. He can't have. Run away. That's all he had to do. It was already spring anyway. One more school year after this one and this 'Alfred' would be out of his life. Everything would return to normal. Whatever that was. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving.

Still for as much control as he had on reality, Arthur's dreams became worse. Alfred continued to star in all of them. Damn his blue eyes, stupid grin, and searching soul.


	5. Brained Heart

The quote is William Mountfort's _Zelmane_, 1705.

I woke up this morning and realized...I don't own Hetalia. Dash it all.

Now for shmexy times;)

* * *

_Ha! hold my Brain; be still my beating Heart._

Arthur ran to a bench in the park near the arboretum. The rain pelted without mercy. He realized he had donned an old beast of a wool sweater Alastair had given him sometime ago. It was large then, but his brother assured him (rather facetiously in retrospect) that Arthur would grow to fit the sweater. Arthur was still waiting. The article was so big it must have taken a few sheep to make the thing. The V neck was wide and long and thereby exposed far too much skin for public decency or social fashion, especially when weighted with water, which it seemed so keen to sponge. The beast sagged at his wrists and pulled on his shoulders like some burden.

How poetic. _Now's no time to wax lyrical, Shakespeare. You've got to get a grip._

He sat on the park bench and, after a few shaky breaths, allowed himself to return to the night before. There was much he could not remember, such as leaving the party or meeting... Alfred. His stomach turned nervously and sickly.

Anxiety struck.

What would happen? What did the boy think of him? Why did he not leave during the night? Surely he must have known about his reputation...

_Don't call me Shirley._

Oh. Shut it.

He remembered seeing Alfred, but for the life of him could not remember how he had managed to convince him to come to his apartment. True, he had succeeded in such a state a few times before, but this was...different. After all the man was straight for gods' sake. Arthur sunk his head into his hands and went back to last night in his apartment.

* * *

Arthur stood in the water closet looking at himself in the mirror trying to decide if this was reality or a dream. He could not feel the cool porcelain of the sink he was clenching, nor could keep his focus on anyone thing. His surroundings seem to shift and melt. Alright, two goals for dreaming. He was also unable to determine how he had arrived there. Three goals to dreaming.

He turned and there stood Alfred.

The boy stood almost naked, except for boxers and the shiny dog tag necklace with the gold ring attached. His glasses were shoved on his head, and a finger was in his mouth. Damn that was sexy. The boy seemed genuinely surprised at Arthur's location, and also blissfully unaware of the effect he was having on Arthur himself.

Slight foam at the corners of his lips suggested his finger had been full of toothpaste. His location suggested that Alfred had come to dispose of said toothpaste. Nicely done, Holmes. What was he at? Three goals to dream. Or was it four? Actually, Alfred's mere presence in Arthur's apartment should count as one goal. The fact he was almost naked, another. And the fact he was oh-so-seductively sucking on a finger as a yet another. Arthur relaxed. The final score was 6 to 0. Thank god. He was officially dreaming.

He reached behind Alfred and pulled the sliding door of the water closet shut, and then shoved Alfred against it, kissing him deeply, fiercely. The flavor of mint toothpaste flooded his mouth and the foam dripped from his chin. What sort of vision was this? It challenged every previous dream, every previous fantasy, thought, or inclination. Could he stay for the whole illusion? How far could he make it before cruel reality shattered this feeling?

Then the kiss was returned.

A blaze of fire hollowed Arthur's body. He crashed into Alfred's squirming body, releasing his hands on the boy to explore, touch, pull. Fingers laced blond hair, traced broad shoulders. Hands felt heaving muscles in the chest, neck, and abdomen. How could he be this close and yet still feel such hunger, thirst. He was starved, parched. He wanted to be closer. He pressed his hips into the boy, grinding into him. Want filled Arthur to the brim.

How much time passed this way? Arthur was vaguely aware that the boy was attempting to say things but he couldn't hear him through his own murmurings, kisses, blood pumping in his ears, all of the above. Arthur would stop his moving lips with more kisses, each one deeper and longer then the last. A few moments passed like this till he could scarcely stifle the groans within himself.

This Alfred seemed taller than the boy he had met as a prospective student. Indeed his eyes were now an inch above Arthur's nose. This suited him just fine. If he had true control over the dream he would have the boy take him, but it hardly mattered so long as this Alfred, real or no, was in Arthur's arms tonight.

After a while, he became aware of the noise emitted from the moving lips of the boy he was attempting to kiss. He sighed and chose to flip the boy around with a move he had learned from Kiku, and pressed him against the door. He shifted his leg between Alfred's and set his finger tips, once more, to exploration of this shivering body, a body that was now pulsing with energy. His fluffy hair, his neck, his chest, lovely and smooth. Arthur heard the hissing of air. Gasps? His own or Alfreds? Arthur tasted Alfred's neck. There's that noise again. No this one was slightly different. Deeper. No matter. Arthur solved it by placing a hand over the other boy's lips. Ah beautiful silence.

"Hush love," Arthur murmured into his neck. "Don't spoil this beautiful dream with the idle chit-chat."

* * *

Somewhere on a park bench near a forest, an English boy's heart broke into a million tiny pieces.


	6. Mad Desire

I kept it short for dramatic effect. You like?

Nope. Don't own anything. Just fantasies.

The quote is Shakespeare yet again.

* * *

_Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? _

Arthur groaned and let his head slip to his knees, feeling the lash of heavy rain drops. The memories came flooding back and he could not halt the surge. He tried to fight it, but still the images flashed back into his mind and his body quivered in memory.

* * *

His hands... one clutching Alfred's manhood,

the other his mouth.

Alfred's body shivered at the touch.

He let his fingers press, pull, slowly at first

and then with more speed.

Then he pressed the top, and Alfred moaned.

It must have been a moan he had been attempting to stifle,

because it escaped with such...force.

The vibration of Arthur's hands at the deep sound.

When he let go, Alfred squirmed again making more sounds.

"Are you pleading? Plead for more."

More sounds. Excited? Panicked? Pleading?

It hardly mattered.

Mad desire, overwhelming

"Hush love. I will give you more."

* * *

Arthur was a monster. How could he have done...something like this...to someone he cherished so much. This was beyond a casual one-night stand. Reputation was the least of his worries. His actions were...criminal.

Arthur shivered. What would happen to him? What if Alfred pressed charges? What if Alfred takes the law into his own hands? Arthur's fear began to crawl up his spine. Cold settled in his bones. What would Alfred do to him?

What had Arthur done to Alfred?

What if Alfred was hurt by this experience? What if he lost his carefree personality? Was he too scared to leave last night and that's why he stayed? What if Alfred became angry and distrusting?

What had he done to Alfred?

* * *

Arthur penetrated him with one finger.

Alfred squirmed. More sounds.

"Shhhhh...it will be ok, darling... Alfred..."

A second finger. Alfred was breathing heavily.

Chest rising and falling with increased rapidity.

Air hissing in and out of flared nostrils.

Warm breath over Arthur's hand still pressed against the boys mouth.

* * *

Arthur pulled himself into a small ball, hugged his legs, and dug his eyes into his knees.

* * *

Arthur penetrated Alfred.

What...pleasure.

Oh bliss.

"Alfred...Alfred..."

Alfred's body, tense

moving.

Alfred digging his nails into the wooden sliding door.

* * *

Arthur heard a sound. Something that was not rain, and yet pattered...like flippers on land, or toddler boots in puddles...Arthur looked up and located the source:

Alfred's bare feet smacking wet cement as he ran, full speed, towards Arthur.


	7. Fair Foul

Hey all! Shakespere strikes again here with the opening quote.

Hetalia isn't mine but I love it like my own.

* * *

_So fair and foul a day i had not seen. _

Arthur caught only a single glimpse of him, before sweet courage failed him once more. Alfred was wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. It looked like he had dressed in a hurry and chose to fore-go both shoes and glasses.

The rain poured even harder and Arthur could hardly determine where he was going, due to the speed at which droplets were imbedding themselves into his eyes. He darted across the brick road to the other side of the park, and then sprinted along a dirt path into the arboretum. He ran full speed through the forest till he reached his peak and then, seeing that the boy had disappeared behind him allowed himself to taper off. His breathing was harsher than usual and he knew it wasn't from the burst of physical exertion. If ever there was a race to be won, surely this was it.

_Don't call me Shirley._

_Shut up!_ Arthur told his brain.

Then he heard the snap of twigs. Even before he managed to turn around, Alfred F. Jones came flying through the undergrowth and caught Arthur around the waist, pulling him straight down into the muddiest part of the trail. Arthur was pinned on his back in the mud and struggled awkwardly against Alfred and various plant life, including a rather large bush, but all in vain. Alfred had him trapped. The reality of the situation hit full force. No escape. No place to run.

Arthur had forced himself on Alfred the night before, and now Alfred would unleash another force on him. The righteous vengeance of fists to flesh.

Arthur began to sob at the coming attack. Not because he was afraid, but because in his heart he knew a villain like himself deserved it. How could he have been so...selfish. Ruthless. Yes it was tragic and poetic. To be beaten to a bloody pulp by the only man he had ever loved. No he couldn't call it that. He had no right to call it that. Love is pure.. beautiful. His was something...dark. Evil. His arm covered his face and he cried. No. He sobbed. His heart already broken and his body preparing for the same.

Alfred shouted against the elements. Wind swirled and the rain pelted their bodies. The fresh spring leaves of the old trees laughed somewhere high above.

"What kind of Englishmen—

Arthur covered his ears. Physical pain he could endure but he had not anticipated a verbal beating as well. He could not stand to hear the carefree sonorous voice of Alfred berating him. It would echo for eternity. Alfred grabbed his wrists and pried them away from his head.

"Hey I'm talking to you-"

Arthur choked another sob,

"I can't...no...please..."

"Look at me!"

Arthur exposed an eye to look at Alfred. His glasses were gone. He was clearly saturated. His dog tags dangled above Arthur's chest as he leaned over him. Arthur's sobbing turned into gasping fear.

"What kind of Englishmen leaves his apartment without his 'brolly on a day like today!"

The comment caught Arthur off guard. There was a swift movement followed by the 'whomp' of an opening umbrella. Beneath the sudden shelter, Alfred gazed at a stunned Arthur. The jabbing rain halted. Arthur's gasping slowed. Alfred traced his fingers across Arthur's forehead brushing the bangs to one side, a gesture Arthur's mother used to do when he was sick with fever. Arthur could not stop the tears.

"There. Now the only rain we need worry about, are those stormy green eyes of yours."

Why was he being so kind? This was almost worse. The kindness made the shame burn.

Arthur covered his eyes.

"Either beat me, or let me alone."

"How about... neither?"

Arthur felt a flush of anger. Why? Why was this boy choosing to do this?

"Why? I did...I did something unforgivable. Why are you treating it like such a joke?"

Arthur fought to free himself once more. He twisted and thrashed, but Alfred easily shoved his struggling body back into the ground- one handed and without even dropping the umbrella.

"I thought...I thought I cared for you enough to leave you alone. Please."

"But Arthur," Alfred's voice cracked, "I never wanted to be left alone. Not by you."

These last words were hardly heard over the downpour on the 'brolly.

Arthur fell limp into the mud. What just happened? What did he say? No more sobs came from him but the tears refused to cease.

"You know, it sounds like your blaming yourself for something that really wasn't your fault to begin with..."

Alfred leaned in close and kissed Arthur on the lips. With such a simple gesture he destroyed everything Arthur had been thinking about.

"I love you and I forgive you- or what ever wrong you think you've done. In actuality, if I had a thousand nights just like the one you gave me last night...it would be too few. And yet to have experienced it once...seems to me reason alone to die happy. Do you know why?"

Arthur shook his head. He was holding his breath. What was happening? Alfred's hand slid beneath Arthur's sweater, up his bare chest and then held his face gently and kissed Arthur again. This time Arthur naturally parted his lips.

"Not only was it wonderful, but you told me that you loved me. Again, again, and again."

Arthur gulped and stared into the ice blue eyes. The tears finally halting.

"You're...you're gay."

Alfred winked.

"Gay as a rainbow baby."

He kissed him once more. Deeper this time. Wonderfully deeper. When he pulled away Arthur gasped.

"And crazy for you. Have been since the moment I heard you saved Mattie. Have been since I saw your first speech online. Have been since the time I first laid eyes on you."

Alfred laughed at Arthur's stunned expression.

"I'll let you up, if you promise not to run anymore. Seriously dude. No more running. I think I got sticks in my toes. You are much to fast for me to catch every time. I'm a Quarter Back after all...not much running."

Arthur's ears echoed

._..promise not to run._

_...promise not to run._

_...promise not to run._

Arthur looked up at Alfred and placed a hand on his heart. Alfred laced his hand into Arthur's and held it there.

"I won't run anymore. Promise."

Alfred kissed Arthur's hand and then allowed Arthur to raise himself off the muddy ground. Arthur glanced at Alfred's knees and saw the streak of mud and woodland shrapnel attained through this whole mess. Arthur knew his own clothes had obtained a worse fate and he could feel his hair was dripping with mud.

Arthur put a hand to his head and swallowed hard. His whole world was exploding and he wasn't sure if his heart could handle much more. The information overload was hard enough to bear without the beastly hang over gnawing at his insides. Alfred gave him a hand and Arthur stood. Suddenly sharp pain stabbed through his leg. He winced and wobbled into Alfred's arm.

"Oh damn..."

Alfred's smile faded and his expression was replaced with one of deep concern.

"What is it? You're foot? Is it broken?"

"No...you bastard. I think you sprained my ankle."

Alfred sighed with relief.

"Why do you sound so happy about it? It's you're fault you know..."

"Well it's alright with me. This means I get to carry you-

Then Alfred handed Arthur the umbrella, turned around, and pulled Arthur onto his back. The movement was so smooth it caught Arthur by surprise.

"Good gracious!"

Alfred tilted his head back and laughed.

"And it also means you'll be out of track practice for a couple of days which means I can spend that extra time making amends to you, ah for everything. Not just the broken ankle.

"Sprained you tosser."

"Right. Sprained. Actually maybe you should break it so we could have even more time...

"And what did you mean by 'everything'?"

There was silence as Alfred situated Arthur on his back and then began walking back to Arthur's Apartment.

"And so the truth emerges. Let me preface this episode with a statement: I take full responsibility for the happenings of last night."


	8. Dare Dreaming

Tee hee! Hope you enjoyed that last episode. Definitely one of my favorites. Especially like the idea of Alfred winking and saying "Gay as a rainbow baby!" Pretty much Alfred all over the place.

Yet another Shakespeare quote. I'm sensing a trend here...

I am not, nor have I ever been, an owner of Hetalia.

* * *

_Dare to dream._

It was almost 6 months since Mattie had relayed the information of the lunch room incident to Alfred. The story transfixed him. He thought about it constantly. Who was this man?

Alfred would always try to casually pepper Mattie with questions about this Arthur Kirkland The story never dulled. Matt's college 'arthur' updates were the highlights of his week. Now he's taking a social justice course. Now he's challenging members of the student body on policies. Now he's organizing letter writing committees. Now he's joining the GSA.

Six months and Alfred had found Arthur's first speech on youtube. Finally, a face to go with the man.

The man was punk. His blond hair was flecked with blue and purple. His green eyes were streaked with dark eyeliner and his nails flashed black. Silver piercings and rings made his face and hands sparkle. Dual checkered red and black arm bands and a tight brown Sublime shirt accentuated his skinny figure, not to mention the black skinny jeans and red converses. The man was beautiful. Alfred put a hand to his smiling lips. He was awesome.

* * *

Arthur began the speech by taking the microphone walking away from the podium to the center stage. He glared at the audience, panning their faces. Then he shut his eyes and screamed. His whole body arched into the microphone and the voice which emerged was blood curdling. The whole crowd jumped at the sudden outburst. The scream was followed by a few shouts of glee and smattering hand claps, but mostly stunned silence.

_Can you hear the sound of oppression? The hatred is killing. People are dying._

_In our schools, bullys push LGBTQ students closer to the ledge everyday._

_In our society, LGBTQ people are pushed closer to the edge everyday._

_We who identify as LGBTQ are ignored, pushed away._

_Ask yourself what you can do. What can you do to stop this killing? Stop the hatred. What is hatred? It is the anger of a collective. What is anger? It is an emotion which covers hurt, shame, and fear. What is hatred? It is the collective fear, curiosity, and ignorance._

_Start with ignorance. Teach your children about gender. Talk to your neighbors about sexuality. Pull the subject out of the closet. Allow for students to learn about LGBTQ issues in school. Stop bullying when you see it and seek justice for those made victims by hate crimes. Draw the issue into daylight and see that we are not monsters, nor are the people who disagree. We are all just people in need of understanding. Information. Compassion. Love._

_Earlier this year, I decked a classmate in the face for bullying a gay man. I returned hate with hate. Gandhi said, an eye for an eye will make the world go blind. I failed to seek common ground. Instead, I was angry at this man for hating what he does not know. I responded by hurting a stranger. I was scared to accept a world where all people could live together. In peace._

_I am no longer afraid. I am no longer afraid to face this oppression._

_To scream to a dark and un-hearing world, LISTEN._

_Can you hear the sound of oppression? The hatred is killing. People are dying._

_Instead seek to kill ignorance. Put fear to death. Satisfy curiosity._

_And seek, always seek, to understand._

* * *

Alfred shuddered as the gaze of the young firebrand met his. Across the cyberspace Alfred felt a connection of souls.

It's him. It's gotta be him.


	9. Risky Fate

Yea another long-ish chapter! Enjoy :)_  
_

Yup you guessed it: Shakespeare once more and I still don't own Hetalia

* * *

_Men at some time are masters of their fates_

Before he came to the school as a prospective student, Alfred had already been the biggest AK fan. He had memorized every one of his speeches on youtube (all three of them) and followed him on twitter, the news, and loved to pepper questions about him at Matt.

"Come on Matt, you're my eyes in the sky! You're like a total Canadian spy-"

"I'm neither. I'm not going to be a vicarious stalker."

"I never said 'stalk' per say..."

"I've got class. Let me know if you want to talk about something normal."

When Alfred met Arthur in person, he was thrilled to see the surprise and genuine interest Arthur had shown in his life. Throughout their conversation however, he kept trying to lure him into asking the right questions or see his slight insinuations. He thought Arthur would be perceptive enough to catch on, but the man seemed to miss all of his cues.

"I admire... _you Arthur Kirkland... _the people here. They..._You..._ challenge the establishment and design their..._your_...own destiny.

I want... _you. I want... _something similar I guess. There is a destiny I wish to design and... _I have to come here because... _i think it's... _you... _here."

Instead the man would stare at him with those piercing green eyes and just...stare. Expressionless. What was with that? Was he a zombie in a past life? Wait...can 'zombie' even be a past life choice? How many Hindus or Buddhists would be offended if he asked? Whatever. Focus dude.

It was clear a direct approach was needed. But when the window of opportunity finally appeared, he chickened out.

"You said that your pondering of morality and talent are just _another_ reason you need liberal arts. What was the first? I must have been miles away."

_Did I actually say that? Now's the moment. You've been practicing. All you have to say is two words. Just two words._

"Oh yeah...I guess I did."

_It's you._

It took weeks for his beating heart to see reason and not rush into fantasies. He had spent far too time, well, far away. He was in danger of loving a fictional person. He needed to build a relationship with the man. But how to go about it? Alfred had tried the direct method, but got ditched right off the bat. After their coincidental meeting at the beginning of the school year, Alfred was beginning to rethink everything he thought he knew about Arthur.

_You see ah, you're really not my type love. I already have enough fan boys._

Alfred pretty much skipped the whole day to mope in his room.

Why was the love of his life turning into such an insensitive jerk? Not cool man.

He had read Great Gatsby. He knew there was a risk. A possibility that the Arthur he loved and glorified was nothing like the Arthur of reality. No doubt a common curse for the groupies of any celebrity.

Alfred saw Arthur rarely after that, just as the man had predicted. So to cope, he threw himself into his work. Before long he had earned quite a reputation of his own as some kind of physics protegé. Still, after the awards for his various projects (mostly generators and robots), he couldn't help but wonder if Arthur would take notice of his picture in the campus newspaper, (especially the most recent one which totally got his good side) or hear about how awesome a guy he is from friends.

Then Arthur had bumped into him at the water fountain. Was that a blush on Arthur's face? Was his mouth open in surprise or...something else? Alfred fought the urge to kiss him right there. Dude. This guy was seriously sexy. He didn't even know what blissful effect he was having on Alfred.

Alfred waited at a study table, hiding behind a book. He stifled a giggle. He felt like some kind of secret agent. His brother had given him the idea. Alfred had been whining for weeks about the 'does he like me' or 'does he not like me' s of Arthur Kirkland.

"I don't know how you can tell anything. Have you two even had one conversation?"

The strain of the two year old subject was wearing on Matt. This was saying something, because Matt was the most patient man in the universe. It also said something about Alfred's tenacity.

"Well I mean...I see him a lot!"

"Does he...see you?"

"Umm...well..."

"You are creepy, crushed, and need to move on."

"Come on Matt, Mattie, please?"

Alfred attempted a puppy dog face. Matt turned to walk away.

"Sorry, you are no longer five years old."

Alfred grabbed Matt's arm.

"Alright, alright. I hear that you're annoyed, but honestly...he's like water. I miss him every time I try to meet him. I don't..it's more than..I think it's not so simple as a crush. It's become delicate and I'm not one for such...ah...finesse."

Alfred's tone was quiet and serious and the grip on his arm was firm. This surprised Matt. Alfred was so rarely a serious person. If he said anything without smiling, then he meant it, to the very core of his being. Guess he was deep like that. Matt sighed. Ever the sucker for his little brother.

"Well if it's finesse you want, I think I know someone who could help."

Alfred leaped high, "Yes!" Then Matt disappeared into Alfred's arms in a lung crushing hug, "You're the greatest!"

After that whole episode, Alfred totally reopened his aching heart to the possibility of more-Arthur-ness-in-Alfred's-life.

The GSA filtered out of a nearby classroom. Arthur was engaged in some deep discussion with Mattie (arranged of course). Alfred waited, scanning the crowd. The people thinned and then the hallway and classroom were empty.

"Where did Francis go?"

"You don't have far to look monsieur."

Alfred jumped about a foot in the air.

"Whoa dude! Don't ninja people like that. Crazy moves man. Wait, how did you know I was looking for you?"

"You could not blend in a crowd to save your life, you 'ave never come to study in ze library, and your hiding book is upside down."

"How do you know I never study in the library?"

"Besides your ineptitude to utilize the books of this institution, it is because I see you study on the_ third _floor of ze 'umanities department outside of Arthur Kirkland's TA office. You always conveniently show to study at the table after he arrives, and depart after 'is office hours. Also, the table at which you study 'as perfect visibility of 'is backside as he writes on the chalkboard."

Alfred gulped. Scratch the secret agent idea. This man was the Bond man himself. Except French, and totally not Sean Connery.

"How do you know this?"

"Because your face is white, your voice is shaking, and I TA on the second floor and often go to visit Arthur during his office hours to pester him. You are there sometimes studying hard, sometimes lost in space, and sometimes staring hard at Arthur's ass."

"Have you told him anything?"

"What is there to tell? Arthur is a bastard, but I catch myself doing the same sometimes. He 'as a very nice ass."

There was an awkward pause. Francis smiled waiting for the obvious question.

"Are you and Arthur..."

"Fuck buddies? Non monsieur."

Alfred let out an audible sigh of relief. This man was too good. He saw everything. Clearly he was used to this game and the cards were in his hands.

Francis smiled devilishly.

"I think I know why... you 'ave decided to come to me."

Alfred picked up some vibe of danger. Blame it on the spidey-sense...

"Follow me, let us talk somewhere more privately, non?"

Francis led the way to the now empty and dark GSA room. Alfred followed. The moment he entered the room, Francis shut the door. Alfred felt suddenly, and deeply, alone.

"Now tell me monsieur 'bright eyes.' What are you willing to do for your precious Arthur?"


	10. Sorrow's Battalions

Hey all, sorry about the slow updates. I'm very separated from computers and will only be updating in short bursts in the next several months. Love the reviews and please stay tuned!

If Hetalia lived in my house we would be completely unrelated. But we would probably become fast lovers…

* * *

_When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions._

"Anything."

"You speak like a 'opeless romantic. Trust me. My country wrote the book on romance. It is foolish. Like you. Now I would like ze truth."

Alfred felt his hands tighten to fists. Who was this guy? He spoke as if Arthur were Alfred's destiny, if he could defeat the dragon. It's not like Arthur was some princess to be saved. He just wanted to...you know...hang out and get to know the man.

Well that and fuck him senseless.

"Why are you asking this?"

"Arthur is very...close to me."

The words gave Alfred chills. He really wanted to beat the holy hell out of this guy. Who does he think he is? This self-important-pompous….

"I would like a taste, just a taste, of what you want to give Arthur."

Alfred was speechless.

"Say what?"

"You 'eard me."

Pregnant silence. Alfred hated that term, after all what would a pregnant silence give birth to—pandemonium? Still, it was befitting the moment just fine.

The idea of giving this man any of the kisses and caresses he had reserved for Arthur...it made Alfred angry.

"No. Not to you, asshole. It's like you're asking me to cheat on the love of my life."

"Already I see you are not a man of your word- Alfred F. Jones."

Alfred winced.

"I will not help liars. This would only cheat Arthur."

"It would cheat him to have you fuck around with his future boyfriend-"

"You make grand suppositions and dream grandly.

"You're sick, you know that? Sick."

"You are a proud man Alfred F. Jones.

Alfred took a step back.

"A proud man who has never lowered his head for anyone. So Alfred F. Jones. I ask you once more. What will you do for Arthur?"

Alfred turned and left the room. He slammed the door and ran to the stairs taking the steps 2 at a time to the front entrance. All the while he could not quell the beat of his heart and that stupid voice in his head. _Anything. Anything. Anything._


	11. To Be

Hey yall, I had to write this under a very strict time limit at a library computer (which is totally awkward btw- yaoi fics and public spaces are a perhaps a little faux pas) so apologies for the short chapters. I know. I live for updates too and it sucks to wait so long for short chapters.

Nope still don't own Hetalia. BUT if they want to give it to me I would love to have it;)

* * *

_To be or not to be, that is the question._

Arthur loosed a series of British curses. Alfred only understood about a third of them due to the lack of consonants.

The rain poured harder and the patter on the umbrella fabric drowned most of the specifics of the tirade, moving to threats. Alfred, waiting patiently for the light to change at the road, could not stop the growing grin on his face.

Arthur was upset for him and somehow this made him all the happier.

"…and then I'll bally well deck the bastard and serve his testacies on a stick to the Queen!"

Alfred couldn't hold it in any longer and roared with laughter.

"What are you bloody laughing about?" Arthur jolted at the sudden explosion.

"You!" Alfred laughed again. "Listen before you go ripping balls off people you might want to hear the rest of it."

Silence. Then Arthur sighed and hands clenched Alfred's shoulders. "I suppose. It's just so damn…horrifying. I guess I never…expected him to do something… like this."

"Shall I?"

"Yes" Arthur buried his forehead into Alfred's back. "Continue…please."

* * *

"Alright. I'll do it!"

Alfred stood resolutely from the bean bag chair he had here-to-fore been nestled in.

"No. no. I can't…it's much to…no I can't."

Alfred sat back down.

Matthew was sitting at his desk working on his computer, probably homework considering the vast numbers of thick textbooks with big words strewn about. From what Alfred could tell, there were no diagrams or equations. Boring! Alfred was probably doing Mattie a favor by visiting.

However, since Francis and Matthew were friends, Alfred declined to share the details of his dilemma. This was a problem because he needed counsel and support, which Mattie somehow provided…if that's what you call total agreement…

"I'll do it!"

"Fine. Then go."

"But I can't."

"Then don't go."

"You know…usually you're more helpful Mattie."

"Usually, you're less annoying."

"Matt!"

"Fine. Then I'll tell you this: if you truly think that this is the only way then I, knowing you, think you should go for it. Otherwise you'll pine. Probably forever. Most likely to me." Matt's brows furrowed at the thought.

Alfred moaned and buried his heads in his hands. He had tried to find Arthur for another week. No one knew his schedule or hangouts like Francis and Kiku, and since Kiku was abroad they all said the same thing.

"Ask Francis."

"Ask that French dude."

"Talk to that fashionable Foreign guy who's always with him."

Nope. There was no other choice. Alfred sighed with resignation.

"Alright. I'll do it."

Alfred rose to leave and passed by Matt's computer.

"Hey—you were playing solitaire this whole time?"

"Multi-tasker, eh?"


	12. Outrageous Fortune

Yup still short but at least it's something. Enjoy!

Nope. I don't own Hetalia, so stop asking.

* * *

_Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer_ _The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,_ _Or to take arms against a sea of troubles..._

"So what did you do?"

Alfred and Arthur made their way to the apartment steps.

"Well, I ended up approaching him a few days ago. He was hanging out with those guys…Tony and Gil."

"I believe they prefer Antonio and Gilbert."

"Yeah. Whatever."

* * *

The trio had been walking down the third floor hallway of the humanities building, speaking and laughing loudly and in many different languages. All of them looked like models for some European fashion magazine; European for their Flood/Capris pants and shoes without socks.

Francis saw Alfred and halted the other two.

"Are you here…to see me?"

Alfred could only nod. Inside Alarms were blaring and red flags waved madly.

"Oye, I like this one."

"No way. He is totally not as awesome as me."

"Dudes. I can here and understand you. I speak freaking English. Also, I am totally awesome."

Gilbert smiled ruefully, ready to launch into a battle of awesomeness but Francis blocked the conversation.

"Gentlemen, I will catch up with you later. Monsieur 'bright eyes' and I 'ave a discussion."

* * *

Alfred set Arthur down briefly to open the front door to the apartment building then helped him hobble to the landing inside.

"Let me help you up the stairs."

"Please, I'm quite alright. I can manage this."

"Ah man, come on, I've always wanted to do this!"

"Do what? Maime me?"

"Nope. This!"

Alfred swooped Arthur up bridal style. Arthur gasped in surprise.

"What on Earth—I'm not a bloody invalid!"

"But you just said I maimed you?"

"Put me down this instant."

"Nope. I just got you. No way I'm letting you go now."

This last part was said with such seriousness that Arthur halted the awkward squirming and blushed. A moment of silence passed between them and then suddenly they had arrived. Alfred set Arthur down on his feet.

"So what happened next?"

"What?"

"With you and Francis?"

Alfred smiled and brushed the bangs of Arthur's forehead just as he had done before.

"Francis who?"

"You plonker. I want to know what happened."

"Are you going to let me finish this time or interrupt me with another bout of curses."

"I guess that depends…"

Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"On what he made you do, idiot."

Arthur mumbled quietly, "No so-called friend of mine is allowed to steal the affections from my…my…" He suddenly lost the courage to name it and looked down at his hands. It was an action he hadn't done since he had defeated the habit at age 10 with the help of an adamant language professor in primary school. "my…boyfriend." He whispered this last word.

Gentle fingers tilted Arthur's face upwards.

"Did I mention I love you?" Alfred pressed his lips against Arthur's.

Arthur could have stayed in that moment forever but all too soon Alfred broke the kiss.

"Alright. I'll talk. You find the keys babe."


	13. Earth Heaven

And were back with more Hetalia! Huzzah. As always, thanks for your wonderful reviews! You are all awesome, patient, and awesome. Which is awesome.

I don't own so please don't sue. Love RockStar1202.

* * *

_There are more things in Heaven and Earth..._

Francis leaned casually against the hallway wall, legs crossed and a hand in his pocket. This time he did not motion to go anywhere private, although since his entourage left they had the floor to themselves.

"Well Monsieur?"

"Well what."

"You know our deal. I want a piece of what you want to give Arthur."

Francis laughed a little at some private joke. This irked Alfred still further but he checked himself. _Stay focused._

"It must be real too. Although you may find it difficult to disguise your ah…distaste."

Alfred, in a heated flash, slammed his hands on either side of Francis. Height and strength belonged to Alfred in that moment. Francis flinched but didn't move. His eyes narrowed, daring Alfred to go further.

Alfred closed his eyes and breathed deeply. _I'm sorry Arthur._

* * *

"It was really all I could think in that moment. I'm sorry…I was out of plans and patience. I guess I took a risk."

Arthur shook his head.

"Suppose it's my own damn fault."

"I wanted it to be you so badly."

Since entering the apartment, Arthur had been leaning against the front door for support. Alfred had only just noticed that he was holding his breath.

Alfred took a step closer and touched his face. He hoped Arthur couldn't feel his trembling. Arthur exhaled.

"Easy there. This story has a happy ending."

"Does it?"

"I'm standing here with you aren't I."

"This I still do not understand. I keep wondering when I'm going to wake up."

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Did…did you just quote Hamlet to me?"

"…you like?"

Arthur yanked Alfred into a kiss, Alfred gasped in surprise.

"What ever I did in my past lives to deserve you, it couldn't have been enough."

Alfred laughed and leaned against Arthur.

"You and me both."

* * *

Alfred's fingers tipped back Francis' chin. He was as close to the man as he could stand without bodies touching. He closed his eyes and moved to kiss him.


	14. Achilles' Heel

Indeed. Another chapter. Much is revealed and yet, still such a short chapter…Alas.

Hetalia is mine. Just kidding. No it's not. The quote is Edgar Allen Poe.

* * *

_Is all that we see or seem, but a dream within a dream?_

Skin connected.

"Non Monsieur Bright eyes."

Alfred opened his eyes to see that his lips were stopped by Francis' fingers. He was also painfully aware that several tears had already escaped…

"You are a man of your word and willing to humble yourself."

Alfred took a step back.

"So it was a test."

Francis shrugged.

"Yes, but it is not what you think. Actually, I thought you were a spy."

Alfred stared blankly.

"A what now?"

"A spy. You see Arthur has been taking quite a few gambles lately with GSA. His senior year, right before graduation, he plans to hold a three day rally at the Capitol. There will be bands, speakers, celebration, but mostly Arthur nailing his theses to the church door as it were."

"I don't understand."

"Arthur will commence the event by pointing fingers at large powerful people. People who have a lot to loose should the media turn their eye to their, ah, doings."

Alfred was beginning to see the picture.

"And you think that people…would be against the GSA holding this event."

"They are. The plans have been leaked…well we weren't trying to hide them really, but the threat mail has only just begun and I 'ave no doubt there will be more."

"Threats?" Alfred's head was reeling. "To Arthur?"

"To all the GSA mind you, but yes," Francis sighed, "Mostly to Arthur as he is the architect of this idea and without him, the whole event will be…well uneventful. One particularly menacing threat letter keeps appearing and is signed only with the nom 'the Russian.'"

"Arthur's in danger." Alfred's skin crawled. He had been so caught up in his own life he hadn't considered that Arthur might be planning something big for his senior year.

"Arthur does not believe it to be so. He thinks the threat mail childish and without basis. He his, in my opinion, careless. He thinks the threats are a sign we are getting close and that this is all the more reason to move forward. Smoke before the flame if you will. So I was thinking, if I were zis Russian, I would find Arthur's weakness and exploit it."

Alfred stared without comprehension.

"You, monsieur 'Bright eyes' are ze great Arthur's Achilles heel."

"I'm his what?"

"And then you come to me, the one man Arthur loves, out of the blue and asks to be introduced. It was too perfect and planned. Either fate was involved…or it wasn't.

Alfred's heart stopped.

"Turns out the universe approves of your love."

_Arthur loves me. Arthur's in danger. I'm his weakness._

* * *

"So, Francis told you about the letters." Arthur looked away.

"Yes. He did." Alfred moved Arthur's face gently to look at him.

"Listen I'm not going to tell you to stop."

"Good because it wouldn't work." Arthur slipped away from Alfred's arms and walked into the tiny apartment kitchen and began to busy himself with a pot of tea. Alfred left it silent searching for words. Once the kettle was set on the stove, Alfred set his hand on Arthur's shoulder.

"I just want you to be careful, and know you're not alone."

"I know. I really don't think any of these letters are serious."

"And what if they are?"

"I guess I'll be a martyr." Alfred spun Arthur around.

"Don't even joke about that."

"Look flyboy. We don't know anything about each other. It's just been dreams and fantasies…for both of us. Don't pretend you care!" Arthur was suddenly tense, fists balled, eyes flaring.

"Don't run away."

Arthur stepped back in surprise. Had he already tried his promise? Must be instinctual to push people away.

"Yes, it has been a dream. But if you're going to run away, then I'm going to be the one to make that dream a reality. It starts right now. I care about you."

Arthur wavered, eyes searching the floor. Alfred used that moment to move closer.

"I care about you, your cause, and your safety."

Alfred folded Arthur in his arms.

"Be safe. Please be safe."


	15. Beautiful Pain

_But were we burdened with like weight of pain._

Of course Arthur understood Alfred's sentiments, but they were so…childish. It was like Alfred was asking him to never die or get hurt, because that would make him very put out. Death was something left to fate, Arthur couldn't control that, and yet Alfred seemed to think that will alone could deter this force.

Life isn't bloody Star Wars.

Arthur would never give in to these threats. Terrorists would never control his actions by fear. He swore that when he started all this activism business. He owed that much to the memory of his little brother Peter.

Since "that time," as Peter's death was always called, a cold fear seeped into the family. Everyone grew distant and unattached. Love and affection was shown silently in the form of bills getting paid and dinner set on the table. Eventually the family broke apart. His father and elder brother went to Scotland and he stayed with his mother. His mother worked as General Practitioner and was therefore permanently tired. When he announced he was gay she took it in stride.

"Ok darling, but gay or not you must take that rubbish to the bin."

But when he announced he was going to America her eyes seemed to focus on him, the first time since 'that time' and really look at him. That terrorist attack had not made him cold. It had ignited him. It had not made him detached. It had given him a hunger to unite. Thus he was allowed to go.

Then there was this Alfred, this boy who clung to him now so tightly. He could not remember the last time someone cared enough to say 'be careful'. He could not remember the last time someone had so lovingly embraced him.

Arthur hugged him back. The flare of rage seeping away. Now there was only the waves of heat emitting from this boys body, the sound of his breathing and the dripping of their soggy clothes on the linoleum floor. Since Alfred had knocked him down in the Arboretum, the boy could scarcely keep from touching Arthur every few seconds, as if he were a mirage that might dissipate. Arthur, who was so unused to such constant physical contact—even in his longest relationships, could not help the lines of fire that would shoot through his body with each caress.

He had to escape this boy and get his head on straight before—

Too late. Visions of the night before flashed in his memory. The trembling form of the boy now in front of him, the groans, the driving climax, and the echos of their voices off the tiles walls of the water closet. Heat raced through Arthur's body straight to his groin.

The sound of the kettle wrenched him back to the present. His eyes focused on ice blue gaze of Alfred's. The boy's expression was… strange, one of perhaps wonder or surprise?

Arthur turned to shut the stove off, the whole time his mind chanting: _he didn't notice, he didn't notice, he didn't notice._ He willed the ancient blood of the Celtics Druids or whatever-all magical ancestry to bid him this one spell. _He didn't notice._

It didn't work. Alfred spun Arthur around.

Arthur blushed and looked away, trying to deny his arousal. His body betrayed him yet again.

Arthur expected Alfred to tease him, or make some snickering comment. Instead Alfred gaped at him for a moment and then crashed lips to his. Arthur tried to protest between the breath-crushing kisses, but alas could hardly get in a word. Especially with him gasping for sweet oxygen.

"Arthur," Alfred whispered in his ear, his voice seemed deeper than before, "Let me set you off. I said I'd make it up to you."

Arthur shuddered. "You bastard." Alfred slid his leg between Arthur's, pressing into him. "You still haven't told me what happened last night."

"Last night," Alfred murmured in his ear, "After I took you home, you collapsed on the bed and were instantly asleep." Arthur could not still his beating heart. "Or so I thought."

Arthur stood paralyzed as Alfred continued both his story and physical perusal as it were. He was clumsy but strong and confident. Then suddenly Alfred lifted the soggy beast sweater exposing his naked chest. He then slid Arthur's head through the top letting the thing rest of the back of his neck. He then distracted Arthur with a kiss as he yanked the sleeves passed his wrists and then tied them behind his back.

"What are you-" Arthur was cut off by Alfred inserting two fingers into his mouth. Arthur fought them but only succeeded in making his mouth dribble like some feral animal.

"Sorry babe," Alfred removed the fingers and let them drift...south, "But you're far too experienced. I need to catch up. After all, until that wonderful discovery of you in the bathroom, I was a virgin."

Arthur's eyes widened. Guilt and shame built in his throat. "Alfred," Arthur whispered, "I can't...words cannot express...I'm so..."

"Shut up." Alfred kissed him gently to stop Arthur's wittering. "The only reason I protested last night was because I knew you would have trouble forgiving yourself." Alfred then began to kiss Arthur's neck and allowed a finger to penetrate Arthur. Arthur gasped and his head jerked to towards the ceiling. "Besides I was warned of the potential consequences for slogging an inebriated, belligerent, and combative brit home from a particularly wild party."

"What do you mean-" Arthur gasped again as Alfred slid a second finger inside. What beautiful pain. "What do you mean combative?"

Arthur felt him smile against his skin. Alfred then spun Arthur around and wrapped a hand around his manhood. Arthur gasped and shuddered. "All in good time babe."


	16. Driven Flesh

Hey all, thank you for your patience. I know the pain of waiting for updates. Thanks so much for all the lovely review!

* * *

_I am driven on by the flesh..._

It wasn't sex, but it was the next best thing. Alfred felt a surge of pleasure holding the trembling form of Arthur in his arms. As he began, Arthur released a moan and his head tilted back on Alfred's shoulder. Alfred ran a hand up and down Arthur's chest. What beautiful skin. Alfred couldn't get enough. He wanted to drink in the feel of skin beneath his fingers.

Arthur attempted to free an arm, and then paused to suck air as Alfred squeezed harder.

"No escape babe."

"I almost never cum first…"Arthur growled.

"You might still keep that trend if you keep up those noises…" Alfred busied his mouth with kissing Arthur's neck and shoulders.

"This is humiliating." Arthur grumbled. A flush had begun to color his ears, face, and chest. The trembling increased as did his breathing. "I don't normally react so…"Arthur failed to stifle a gasp. "so quickly." Then quietly, he whispered. "I've wanted you…for so long now."

Alfred felt heat rush through him at the thought of Arthur thinking of him…of wanting him.

"Let me…return the pleasure."

"You are." Alfred said huskily. He took a quick moment to unzip his jeans to alleviate the sudden constriction. Arthur managed to free a hand and Alfred shuddered with pleasure as fingers laced through his hair.

"But I want you...inside me."

"Not going to happen." No condoms and no time. Alfred's patience was waning thin.

Arthur gasped and tightened his grip in Alfred's hair. Alfred tightened his grip as well…

Arthur cried Alfred's name. He was close, and so was Alfred. By now Arthur's other arm was free, but he rested it against the moving muscles against Alfred's forearm. It seemed all they could do to remain standing and not melt into the floor. Alfred allowed himself to grind hard against Alfred. His own groans could not be contained.

Alfred didn't smile but joy filled him to the brim. Best day ever.

* * *

When they were both released Arthur remained for some time dazed and panting in Alfred's arms. Alfred burned this moment to memory. Would that they could stay in this place and time forever. Then, all too soon, Arthur muttered something about a shower and slid away. It was a moment before Alfred stood up straight and then turned and leaned against the kitchen counter. He watched his...his boyfriend walk down the hall and disappear into the bathroom. For half a moment he wanted to run after him, but decided against it. This man would need substantial amounts of time and space of his own. This way Alfred could maintain his tsunami style affection and continue to overwhelm him. Otherwise the man might become desensitized, and Alfred never wanted his time with Arthur to become routine.

Alfred laughed gently to himself and turned to the kitchen. He first began to clean up the mess they had brought from outside and then began to prepare a massive brunch. He was starving. As he worked his mind wandered back to Francis, and he chuckled again.

* * *

"But of course, I 'ave the best, how do you say, 'gaydar' on campus and even I believed that you were straight. Arthur also believes this and that is why he avoids you."

"You guys…thought I was…hang on I thought you knew after you called me out on my study spot?" Alfred blushed with embarrassment.

"Yes. Even now it is still hard to believe. What kind of shoes are these?"

"Hang on, are giving me a superficial gay test? I already know you're a sick bastard-"

"Tell me."

"…Prada."

"Ze cologne?"

"Gucci."

"What is your favorite sport?"

"Football."

Francis raised his eyebrows.

"American football."

Francis was still silent. Alfred blushed.

"Alright. A bunch of full grown men with shoulders and tight asses in spandex tackling each other. What's not to like?"

Francis circled Alfred.

"It is like you are a gay man trapped in a straight mans body."

"Huh?"

"Look. You 'ave no style, your shirt is old, your glasses are dirty, your 'air is messy. You have no style and no pride. Also, you could stand to loose some weight."

"Hey, look." Alfred ran a hand through his hair. He had never had need to put words to this before. "Where I come from, admitting you're gay could get a brick through your window, your car set on fire, or evenget you killed. Call my 'passing for straight' a survival instinct. I guess that's why Arthur was so...compelling. He's just so, free."

There was a sympathetic silence.

"I am sorry for your upbringing. I thought you were pretending in order to get close to Arthur. But I thought a straight man would find my little test distasteful and I would be able to tell. Turns out not only are you fabulous gay, but a virgin, and entirely stuck on Arthur." Francis laughed as only the French do. "Zis is very precious."

"Why do I feel even more nervous than before?"

Francis laughed even louder.

"Ooo la la, zis is going to be fun."


	17. Faulty Excuse

Yeah another chapter! This one contains a shout out to a particularly favorite fic of mine by George deValier called "We'll meet again" which you should all read:)

* * *

_Oftentimes excusing of a fault doth make the fault the worse by the excuse._

Arthur entered the water closet and closed the sliding door and sighed. Finally, alone at last. Arthur's head was spinning. No not spinning. Reeling? The floor kept oozing into some parabolic form and his eyes kept shifting. The hangover was still strong but the fresh air, jaunt through the woods, and...whatever that was that just happened all contributed to alleviate some of the brain trauma from the early morning.

He froze in reflection. Alfred F. Jones was now his...boyfriend.

Arthur's heart took up figure skating in that moment and began doing triple axels. He laughed, smiled, and ran a hand through his hair and turned on the shower. He caught a glimpse of his hair. The mud had been rubbed all over the back of his head. Damn. Oh that real sexy that is. He peeled off his wet skinny jeans and popped into the shower.

After a moment of reveling in the heat and ensuing cleanliness, Arthur turned his thoughts again to last night. What happened? Why had Alfred followed him home? What did Alfred mean by him being 'combative'?

Nothing. Besides going to the party and seeing that Alfred was there...no wait. That was definitely the moment Arthur started drinking. Arthur remembered snatching some fools beverage away and tossing it back.

"Sorry old chap, but I really needed that just now."

Then...something surprising happened. The music stopped and the lights went down. Then Alfred was on stage with a band. That white haired German was there at the DJ station and the long haired Austrian was at the keyboards. That southern Italian was on drums...

Arthur shook his head and thought of the most recent events and then shook his head again. They were moving extremely fast. Something they both enjoyed no doubt, but this was also the pattern of all of his previous relationships. They must slow down or Arthur would start to fall into routine, and routine Arthur was bitter, self-absorbed, rude, and apathetic to his significant others-at least outside of the bedroom, which is why it took so long to get rid of some of them.

No. He had to set limits down...some sort of no sex rule so that they could talk. Flashes of last night and the latest episode flashed before him and he shuddered at the remembered pleasure. Damn. This would be difficult indeed.

Arthur finished up in the shower and dried off. He then went into his bedroom. During the brief transition from the water closet to the bedroom he stole a glimpse of Alfred in the kitchen. He was cooking something and had Arthur's ipod in the speaker. He was singing to some old jazz tune, "We'll meet again." For a moment it was as if Alfred belonged in that era, fighting in some world war as an ace pilot. He really was in some deep way, old fashioned.

Arthur slipped into the bedroom and busied himself with a new outfit. More black skinny jeans and, this time, a red Beatles t-shirt. He then made the bed trying to stray his thoughts away from this day's morning discovery. He moved his eyes from the place he had discovered Alfred and landed them on his bedside table. There he found a tall glass of water, a bottle of Gatorade, a plethora of pain killers, and a bowl of saltines. Alfred had set hangover helpers out for Arthur to find in the morning.

Arthur felt strangely touched. The care and forethought involved...somehow it was rather romantic. Arthur took a few aspirin and drank the Gatorade and then left for the kitchen.

He padded down the hallway in bare feet, smelling of bath soap, watching Alfred at work. The kitchen seemed to be his realm, what with the way he moved through it. Deftly moving this spoon, putting this away, eating a piece of that. Pots were steaming and plates were set while Alfred settled to busy himself with some of the cleanup. A towel was thrown over his shoulder as he washed up a dish. His voice rang out clear with the tune. Arthur realized that Alfred had changed clothes. He was wearing a pair of Arthur's sport shorts and an old rugby t-shirt.

Alfred turned to catch Arthur blushing. "You're wearing my clothes..." Arthur muttered daftly. Alfred took two steps and gently took his face in his hands. "Stop blushing or I'm going to have to kiss you." This of course had the opposite effect and Alfred kissed Arthur. Alfred's hands smelled of dish soap...Arthur was lost in the moment. "You're not stopping..."Alfred muttered. Arthur's hands trailed up Alfred's chest and gently wrapped his fingers in the folds of his t-shirt.

Then he remembered. "Wait!" Arthur shouted a bit too loudly and pushed Alfred away. Alfred looked amused rather than offended and smiled at Arthur. "Something wrong babe?"

"No, I just think that we should...stop." Alfred suddenly tensed.

"Stop what?" He asked with obvious concern.

"I ah..."Arthur looked down at his shoes. Again this foolish childhood habit. Damn him.

"Stop what?" Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand. Arthur could feel another blush becoming and Arthur wondered if he could resist another bout of Alfred's snogging. Fast now. Arthur had to say it fast. He took a breath.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The three loud knocks made Arthur about jump out of his skin. He saw Alfred jump as well. Judging by the amount of French swear words Francis was demanding entrance. A very strange occurance since Francis had keys to Arthur's apartment. Arthur moved to answer the door, but was pulled around and shoved against the wall.

"Just a minute!" Alfred called.

"You 'ave 'ad plenty of time you damn American. Now it is time for Arthur to face facts!"

"What is he talking about? Face facts?" Arthur was pinned against the wall.

"Hey spacy. Focus. Eyes on me." Arthur focused his eyes on Alfred's. Damn his gorgeous blue eyes. "Stop what now?"

"I just think we're taking things too fast and-"

BAM. BAM. BAM. BAM. Francis continued his knocking tirade.

"I want us to have a time without sex and all this...snogging."

Alfred relaxed and smiled. "Well why didn't you say so." He kissed Arthur chastly on the forehead. "I've waited my whole life for you. I can wait as long as you want." He smiled and then moved to open the door. "For now on I shall behave myself. I will be completely G-rated till you say so."

Arthur was surprised at how easy that was. In fact, it pissed him off, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps because he made it sound so easy. Like his desire and affections could just be shut off at will.

Arthur's thoughts were burst by a Frenchmen flying through the doorway at him brandishing a soggy 'brolly.

"En guarde you English pig-dog!" Arthur jumped backward barely dodging a rather vicious spear attack. He stumbled sideways behind the kitchen table. Francis tried to reach across the table thwapping the brolly hard in his direction. Francis' hair was soaked and strands stuck to his face. His cheeks were red and his eyes blazed with fire. For the first time, Arthur was witnessing the Frenchmen in a state of deep and utter rage. Arthur felt fear crawl up his spine.

He stepped backward and dove behind the breakfast bar and searched for some implement of defense.

"I can't believe I 'elped you last night. My friend." The Frenchmen spat in his direction.

"What are you talking-" Arthur dodged a swish of the brolly as Francis rushed into the kitchen. "What are you talking about?"

"Francis- he really doesn't remember!" Alfred called from the doorway. Arthur blocked an attack with a skillet that had been prepped for eggs. Thankfully it was still cold. Francis swung the brolly again to the left and Arthur parried it a la frying pan. "Stop this nonsense!"

"You ask that now? You are an insolent fool. What you did last night was nonsense!"

Arthur stole a look at Alfred who was looking rather helpless and then noticed Matthew standing next to him, looking horrified.

"Vous arrête maintenant!" Matthew shouted.

It was the loudest thing Arthur ever heard him say in his life. Francis exploded in a fury of French shouting at Matthew and gesturing to Arthur. Matthew shook his head. Francis threw the brolly down and swore. Arthur looked from one to the other and then noticed Matthew's bandage around his head.

"Matthew you poor chap, what happened to your head?"

A thick silence settled in the tiny kitchen and all eyes stared at him. The Frenchmen fuming, Matthew frowning, and Alfred amused. Arthur suddenly remembered Alfred's adjectives for his own state of being last night: belligerent and combative.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, "Bullocks."


	18. Ockham's Razor

Never fear fic fans! I have the story finished I just need to find time to update. Time is soon to be much more in abundance. Sorry for the wait! Also the phrase is the definition of Ockham's Razor.

* * *

_Other things being equal, a simpler explanation is better than a more complex one._

Alfred decided to play host since Arthur was far too distracted. He looked like a zombie, what with the detached way he moved from the kitchen to the common room. He noticed that his limping returned. No doubt his ankle was acting upt. Arthur sat at one end of the couch and Matthew at the other end. Alfred went to the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas and an ice pack, the first for Arthur's ankle and the second for Matthew's head. He then set two pillows down on the other side of the coffee table for Francis and himself and started passing around plates of pancakes and eggs. They ate for a while in awkward silence. Since nature abhors a vacuum, Alfred did his best by filling up the air with chatter.

"Matthew are you able to speak English yet?"

"Non Alfred." And then Matthew launched into an explanation in French which Francis translated in his usual biting manner.

"Matthew cannot speak English yet because his native tongue is more readily retrievable than his second language, but he says he is making progress because last night he could not even understand English. Today he is able to understand. The doctor said it is most likely a temporary condition."

Alfred looked at Matthew with concern. They both had their fair share of injuries growing up. Well Matthew had his fair share, and then-some really. He lacked much coordination with sports. Baseball was the bane of his youth. Inevitably he would end up with an injury and quite a few were concussions. Eventually his brother took up painting and never went back, unless Alfred rounded the guys to play hockey on the pond in winter. The man was a sucker for hockey.

Alfred continued to stare at Matthew and ask questions.

"Does it still hurt?"

Matthew shrugged and then nodded, "Oui."

Alfred noticed the color drain from Arthur's face. He wished for a moment that he could be alone with his brother for a minute. But that wouldn't do any good since Alfred's French was nonexistent. He tried to will his message across to his brother._ I'm sorry I left you last night._

Then Alfred caught Matthew's quick thumbs-up sign followed with a wink. Growing up this had been their secret sign for 'leave me alone with this cute boy please.' Then the other would suddenly disappear with some pressing appointment. It was the same sign that Mattie had given Alfred last night. Alfred stifled a knowing smile.

"I'm glad you're ok."

Alfred looked at Arthur. Arthur had been watching the conversation with vacant eyes. His food lay untouched on the coffee table in front of him, although he was clutching a mug of tea as if it were a ward against evil. Alfred wanted to tell him that he was not going to blame Arthur for his reaction. In fact, it seems to have all come together for Mattie...

"Shall we enlighten this English bastard now?" Francis growled over his coffee. After a silent assent. Francis nodded and set his mug down. "Fine. I shall start."

* * *

The GSA filed out of the room and Francis was left to clear up the mess of papers. He had just gathered everything when he heard a quiet voice.

"Hey Francis."

"Sacrebleu!" Francis jumped about a foot in the air. He had thought he was alone and then Matthew materialized out of nowhere. Matthew tried to stifle his laughter as he bent to collect some of the papers that had fallen.

"Sorry Matthew. I thought I was alone."

"No worries." Francis stood holding the papers as he watched Matthew. Matthew was so slight, slender, and faded so well into the background, despite those sparkling blue eyes and dashing blond hair. Francis was not one to believe in the hocus pocus of magic, but he did believe that people possessed a power of presence. Auras he called them, for lack of a better term. Matthew contained his aura, not letting it spill needlessly about as so many others do. Francis believed that he did this on purpose. Matthew liked living in the background, like a sunset or a clouded sky. He knew that from his paintings. Actually, it was because of Matthew's paintings that Francis had unknowingly crushed on him since freshmen year.

Francis' first semester was also his first time in America, and he hated it. American's were completely void of aesthetic taste in beauty. They wore sweatpants to school, were horribly uninformed of the rest of the world, and could find a way to eat anything with a fork. To quell his longings for France he often found himself in the student art galleries, drinking in the sculptures and paintings of his peers. In particular, the paintings by M. Williams. He had been following his work closely and could see his (or her) rising potential. Once he brought Gilbert and Antonio to the gallery and made a friendly bet that M. Williams would win first prize at the art festival at the end of the semester. It wasn't quite fair, since Gil and Antonio were unfamiliar with the works of M. Williams. The only painting they saw of his was of some polar bear he had painted for an assignment.

Francis won the bet when Williams won first prize. A few days after the festival he returned to study the prize painting without the crowds. He remembered the day well- it was the day he met Matthew. Francis had been standing in front of the giant painting. It was called 'Theseus' Ship' and it was beyond spectacular. On either side of the painting were two halves of wooden ships, one the back half of some great galleon and the other the front of some fast schooner. The halves floated on glassy smooth water which reflected a fiery sunlit sky. In the middle pieces of both ships were torn to splinters and blown every which away. Actually it was unclear if the two halves were blown asunder violently, or if they were silently and magically rearranging themselves. While the detail of the ships were extraordinary, Francis found himself lost in the sky and its color. Whoever this Williams was, the sky was his soul. He was sure of this.

"Do you like it?" A voice said quietly.

Francis spun around. There was a dashing young man who seemed...familiar and yet he could not place him. He had blond hair and spectacles. He wore clothing that was slightly big on him, a baggy flannel shirt with a grey undershirt and khaki pants.

"Yes, I'm a big fan of the artist actually. I was just admiring his soul color." Francis smiled.

"Soul color?"

"Yes, the sky just there. How do you say in English?"

"Orange?"

"Non. Zis is not it. It is more than orange." Francis then slipped into French murmuring to himself, "_It is both a tree turning in Autumn and a quiet fire in a camp_."

"I'm glad you like it...and I think you might be right. About the color I mean. Perhaps it is... my soul color."

Francis now noticed the blotches of paint on his pants and shirt, no doubt clothes the man donned for his painting purposes. Suddenly Francis became nervous. It was an unfamiliar feeling. Francis was never nervous. He disliked this man for putting him in such a position that he would be somehow intimidated.

No matter. Francis had been sexually attracted to many people he admired and respected. These people were always crossed off the list as 'potentials.' Instead he would look to these persons and make them his friends. He never bedded friends. It kept his friend group drama free and made him a most loyal ally. It was a rule he had agreed upon when he had abandoned the notion of 'love'. Love was a cultural construct and an excuse to cause unnecessary complications in the lives of those involved and the friend groups surrounding. Sex was a normal biological desire. Companionship was necessary for human interaction. He would have both whenever he pleased, but to keep matters simple, for him, they were never combined.

"You are M. Williams?!" Francis allowed all of his admiration to show, quickly couching all flirtation. This man would be forever off limits.

"Um...I'm Matthew. And you're Francis right? I think we have ethics together."

That was why this man seemed familiar. Suddenly...Francis realized that they were speaking French. Matthew had stated his last sentence in French. Fluently.

"You speak...you speak French?"

"Ah yes. I was born in Montreal, Quebec."

Damn him for being the most respectable artist on this campus. Damn him for not...qualifying.

Still. Francis was determined to make Matthew a friend.

"What...what are you doing at this time?"

"Going to class in ten minutes."

"Do you have time after?"

"Yes, why?"

"We must go to the cafe and you must share your life's story and art passion with me."

They met after Matthew's class and had a wonderful time. It was a little difficult to get Matthew to talk about himself. He liked more to talk about philosophy, their common ground. He managed to uncover that Matthew's parents were divorced and that while he had spent his life going to school in Montreal and speaking French, he spent the summers with his Father and half brother learning English and spending time in America. After so many sports injuries playing rough with his no-so-little little brother, he began to use the summer as a chance to cultivate his talents with paints and sketches. Francis and Matthew shared more than a few common dislikes about Americans, but it was clear that Matthew adored his American family, even tolerated his stepmother very well, but that could be because Matthew was the type of person to tolerate just about anyone.

Francis had hoped they would become best friends after that meeting, but during the next year, and indeed the year after, their worlds rarely crossed. Francis was a foreground person. Francis lived for attention, fashion, and all things center stage. People thought him shallow and materialistic and he did very little to persuade them otherwise. Francis lived in a world where morality was subjective, and the meaning of life created and recreated daily. Still for all the beautiful people he chased, he could not even scrape the happiness and serenity which filled him when he spent time with Matthew or looked at his paintings. The feelings were the same. What would a sunset like Matthew want with a buffoon or a weed such as Francis?

Before it was always Francis asking Matthew to go out with him and friends, or to join him at some function or another. Matthew never called him nor asked him for anything. A very private person indeed. But now, here was the Williams man. Standing in front of him.

"I wanted to ask a favor of you."

"Of course Matthew, what is it you 'ave in mind?"

"My brother has need of your skills. He's convinced himself he's in love with Arthur. I thought you might help him out or dissuade him. Whichever your instincts deem appropriate. I know Arthur is a good friend of yours."

Matthew was one of the few who could tell that Arthur and Francis were in no way, nor had they ever, dated, as was the usual assumption. He seemed to be keenly aware that Francis never bedded the people he was close to. As for Arthur and Francis, theirs was indeed a love hate relationship, but it was only a dysfunctional and unlikely friendship. Francis was much too wild and carefree with his, ah, affections and Arthur held romantic relationships like one clutches a tiny spoon laden with a giant egg.

Francis agreed he would talk with the Jones boy, but he felt the timing a bit strange. Both Jones and Williams had no idea of Arthur's silent obsession. What if the Russian was involved in this?

Ockham's Razor: the simplest solution is most often correct. Is it possible that separately both Arthur and Alfred 'ave come to love each other from afar? Probably not. More likely this Jones boy was being paid off somehow by these people making threats. Still there must be a way to discern the boy's intention...Francis began to devise a plan.

"So that's why you kissed my boyfriend?" Arthur glared over his cup of tea, former rage returning. Alfred glanced over at Francis who slammed his fist on the table. "I never kissed him, nor did I truly intend to, and at the time he was not your boyfriend. Besides, zat is quite enough you- you-" Francis launched into some long French list of insults. Of course, Alfred could only assume this by the gestures, passionate inflection, and the distance at which spittle shot from his mouth. He managed to switch back to English at the end. "Plus- it is 'ardly anything at all considering what you did to _my..._to Matthew."

Matthew blushed deeply. Francis, apparently realizing what he said, or almost said, stopped and blushed as well. Silence filled the room. Arthur looked shocked and angry. Alfred tried to quash the need to trade his pancakes for a bowl of popcorn. This was getting good. He wondered if they slept together last night? Would this be an ok moment to high-five Mattie?

"I realize that somehow Matthew has been physically harmed by me," Arthur said tentatively, eyes searching the floor for the right words. He shifted the bag of peas on his ankle, "...and for that I am deeply sorry." Arthur looked meaningfully at Matthew who nodded and muttered a "Merci". "But I happen to have a very poor opinion with your ways, Francis, and in the realm of 'dating', if you can even call it that, most especially. I want you to know Francis that should you hurt Matthew, well...hell hath no fury."

Matthew was clearly uncomfortable, eyes darting from Arthur to Francis. Alfred wondered how much of this he was getting. Obviously, he was sensing the mood and aware that he was the subject. Alfred, for one, still wanted to high-five his brother...

Francis nodded, shocking everyone in the room with his own seriousness. "It was some luck that Matthew should have confessed to me last night. I...never thought I would be deserving of someone such as him."

"Woah! Recap. Mattie?! You've been crushing on this guy and you never told me?! No way! When did this happen?" Alfred interjected. "Also, are you ok with Francis fake hitting on me?"

"'Perhaps another time Jones. Say when he 'as recovered"

"No. I...think...I can manage...now." Matthew's English was clear, but quiet and slow. Everyone stared stunned. Matthew took a deep breath, rearranged the ice pack on his head and began.


	19. Created Meaning

And now enter, my favorite Hetalia Character. Enjoy! I know I did:) The quote is from Jean Baudrillard which you should all read and love.

* * *

_Everywhere one seeks to produce meaning, to make the world signify, to render it visible. We are not, however, in danger of lacking meaning; quite the contrary, we are gorged with meaning and it is killing us._

Details. It was an artist's curse. All his life Matthew had seen details. Some days he could hardly speak he was so overwhelmed with the details surrounding him. In every environment Matthew felt like an intruder, like a stone falling into still water. What would it look like if he had not invaded? It was a paradoxical notion. This pull to see and experience, and push to be resistant..absent. Instead he would be still. Growing up in Montreal, he would often he would sit on park benches for hours, watching the daylight play on the leaves of trees and sparkle in the splashes of water from the fountains. He liked to watch people's expressions and predict their movements. He was enchanted with fingers, shoelaces, earlobes, and neck muscles.

He hadn't picked up paint brushes till he had been confined to the bed for a summer after a sports injury with Alfred. They were playing baseball and he had broken his ankle trying to learn how to slide. His stepmother had thoughtfully provided him with the materials. It had been frustrating at first, but slowly his hands, the paints, and the brushes all began to respond and reflect not just what he could see, but also somehow the feeling he had when he had seen.

Today the dull throbbing in his head made it difficult for him to focus on any one thing. As he tracked the conversation his mind would continuously check in and out. His mind would hear the English and sometimes he would put the effort into understanding, but it was an effort. Instead he disengaged. Alfred had a loud way of breathing. Arthur sipped tea in a very distinct manner. When Francis was impassioned he sometimes ran both hands through his hair for dramatic effect. This made Matthew smile.

Ah, Francis. Matthew could not remember the incident in question. At least the one that had led to his head injury. He remembered nothing of the party or anything immediately after, but he believed everything Francis had told him about the event. It sounded, like something Matthew would do and say and explained Francis' actions. He did remember the emergency room, and Francis walking him back to his dorm, stopping only briefly at the convenience store to pick up some ice. . It was around midnight by the time they left and the fuzziness finally faded away. His head ached, but mostly he was happy. Happy in a way he had not felt since he was 17 and still with Fernando... The air was charged with tension and Matthew wondered what would happen. At the time he knew that he had confessed something of his feelings for Francis but he couldn't remember... any...details.

The conversation had turned to Matthew. He focused all his energy into tracking the conversation and understanding the language. Now he took a moment to breath and collect his thoughts.

"I guess it was Freshman year. I had heard of Francis- well to be honest who hadn't. You made quite a name for yourself right off the bat."

"What is ziz? A bat-"

"From the get go." Alfred tried to clarify. Francis stared at him blankly.

"The onset? The beginning?"

"Ah, I see. Sorry, please continue Matthew."

"I actually never paid him any attention. He was always surrounded by this impenetrable wall of people. He was fashion, drama, and shallow."

Francis swore, "Tell me 'ow you really felt Matthew. Get it out now- or I will get it out of you later." He warned.

"Ugh. Dude. Can you put a lid on that kind of talk? This is my older brother were talking to."

"My apologies, Monsieur Bright Eyes."

"Of course this is what I thought, until I discovered that you liked my paintings."

Francis smiled at Matthew. Matthew could feel the heat rise to his cheeks. He hadn't told Francis any of this and he felt exposed, especially with Alfred and Arthur watching. No doubt if all of them continued in these relationships, they were going to become closer in days to come. He would have to get better at these group conversations.

"I saw that you, that Francis, would pace up and down the student galleries. At first, I couldn't believe it was you. I didn't believe you were one to ever leave your group of adoring fans."

He wondered if Francis knew that everyone outside his group of adoring fans called him Sir French-a-lot. It went well with their nickname for his best friend, King Arthur."When I happened to be in the gallery at the same time as Francis, I would usually pick a spot behind a sculpture, or a door, and count the steps he would take, and the seconds in between, to decide which paintings he would spend the most time in front of. It was a long time before I finally admitted to myself that you," Matthew met Francis' eyes, "that he, enjoyed mine the most."

Matthew took another fortifying breath and continued.

"I was working on my end of term project when I heard Francis talking to Gilbert and Antonio in the hallway."

* * *

Their voices trickled into the empty classroom. Matthew had been in between songs on his ipod, otherwise he might not have heard them. He switched off the device and scooted his rolling chair to the doorway to listen. They were all laughing at something.

"It reminds me of when I was un niño pequeño. With paints y colores."

"You were that un awesome? Seriously dude it doesn't even look like a bear- more like a fluffy snow ball with three black dots and claws."

"Hmm...say what you want monsieurs."

Matthew imagined all heads turning towards Francis. He imagined a smile tugging at the corners of Francis' mouth. "I think we can expect great things from this 'Williams'"

" ?Porque?"

"Yeah. Why this guy?"

"Shall I divulge my eye of beauty or wager money instead?"

"This guy wants to make a bet? You're on!"

"Si. How about if he or she wins any prize at the 'Circle Round the Earth' festival next semester?"

There was a laugh.

"I will take it further. I wager 'Williams' wins first place."

Their voices grew distant as they walked down the hall and solidified the bet.

Matthew felt his cheeks burning. What had Francis seen in that stupid painting? It was just some throwaway project for a class. It was of a polar bear- kumagero...kumajiri? He couldn't even remember. No. He doubted Francis had seen anything in that painting. Perhaps he was drawing on his knowledge of his earlier works? Still, this was some vote of confidence. He wasn't even sure a freshmen had ever won first prize at CRE Fest. Usually it went to a senior.

Matthew whiled away the days following dreaming up possible ideas for his art submission...and dreaming of Francis. He was in metaphysics class trying to decide if he should 'reveal' himself to Francis or not when he came up with the idea. The topic of the day had been a science fiction theory of teleportation. Could one person be completely disassembled—transported, and then reassembled and still be that same person? Matthew listened carefully to the discussion. Eventually they began to discuss Theseus' ship. Matthew began to wonder that if Theseus was going to take that time to have his ship disassembled, then why not improve it—if even slightly on the new addition? Matthew began his first sketches of his project that day.

He poured everything into that painting. It contained many hopes and desires, but also his questions, and they all revolved around Francis. It was a great attraction, but it was also an insatiable curiosity. Francis hardly ever divulged anything personal, save opinions, and he never dated. Strictly quick flings. Why was that? Was he afraid of a deep love relationship? He decided that if he won any prize at the festival, he would go and meet Francis. If he didn't, well, 'cest les vie.

Against all odds, Matthew became the first freshmen to win the CRE Festival grand prize. He won a scholarship and earned his piece a permanent place at the college. The first week was like a dream. He went to dinners, spoke to big name local artists, and received some level of fame in the community. But after this first week, he began to sense that in his effort to win the prize, he had alienated his fellow peers. The seniors especially were not amused at his stunt. Often walking down the halls, people would 'bump' into him, knock over books. Matthew was no stranger to bullying. His first week a football player had called him a fag in the lunchroom. Arthur had a fit over that one. Unlike Arthur the firebrand, Matthew was conflict avoidant. Therefore Matthew chose his painting times carefully so as to have the galleries to himself, but even then he often found his tools or paints missing.

Matthew was distracted about this new development on the way to class, when he turned down the hall and saw Francis, standing right there in front of his painting.

While Francis was quick to invite Matthew out, Matthew also knew that for Francis people fell into two categories: those he would keep and those he would use and dispose. It was clear to Matthew that Francis wanted to be friends with Matthew, but it was confusing because Francis seemed to speak in layers. He would ask Matthew to go out with his friends, but his eyes would be beg or his hand would twitch. Matthew sensed that this man was hungry...hungry for him. He decided to starve him. Matthew didn't want to be some fuck-buddy, but he also didn't want to be a trophy in Francis' friend case. Francis would have to make his own decision.

But he never did. And the years passed. Francis and he never grew beyond the occasional philosophy discussion.

One such day they emerged from class discussing the days topic of Baudrillard.

"Simulacrum are all around us! It would be better to get rid of zem all."

"You can't do that, the originals are destroyed. Actually, the moment you create a simulacra of reality you have in fact erased any chance of accessing that reality ever again."

"Have we? But we could start simple- take clothing for example. It used to be that clothing was meant to save us from a terrible death of exposure. Now it is used to identify class and culture. It is a needless symbol!"

"But clothing is a beautiful expression of self and simple freedom which enriches our society."

"Bah! You think too much with your heart and not your head. It is another false symbol which only divides us. We should get back to basics and remove symbols all together."

"Symbols don't divide us- they are by definition a collective agreement, like that stop sign, or- or government."

"Who's to say we wouldn't be better without?"

"Now you're just slipping back to the old anarchy argument. If people were essentially good then I'd agree with you."

"Can I help that I prefer Rousseau to your Prince Machiavelli?"

"I've got to get to the studio."

"Matthew-"

Matthew stopped and turned. Francis was staring at Matthew and for a moment his eyes said a thousand things he was never going to say.

"I like that you think with your heart. Don't ever change. There are too few men like you."

"They'll never make a simulacra out of me, that's for sure."

Matthew walked a few paces and then turned. Francis was already walking away.

"Francis!" Matthew called. The man turned, "If you had a soul, its color would be royal blue."

"Why is that?"

"It's the only color that follows you everywhere you go, but has no soul to land on."

"That's lovely. Still no such thing as a soul!"

Francis saluted and left.

Matthew turned. They were almost seniors. Next year would be their last year. Francis made no move despite his unshared feelings. Matthew made a decision to interfere.

"Aw man Mattie. You were sooo cool last night. Totally awesome what you did. Glad you're ok and that you got your American- I mean, English back an stuff."

Matthew saw Arthur roll his eyes.

"No it was NOT awesome. It was incredibly stupid of you. And you think zat I 'ave the flare for dramatics."

Arthur interrupted, "Hang on. I'm still in the dark. What exactly happened?!"

"You 'appened you English bastard!"

"Whoa man. Them's fightin' words and were all friends here. Also. It seems to have worked out well for all of us so let's just calm the F down. Savvy?"

Francis still continued to scowl at Arthur. Arthur lowered his gaze to his tea.

"I think...I need a break." Matthew requested quietly.

Matthew breathed a sigh of relief when they honored the request to clear some dishes and take Arthur's thawed bag of peas back to the freezer. The other three wandered to the kitchen table leaving the couch for Matthew. He was grateful for the chance to lay down with the ice pack over his eyes. Outside the rain had picked up. He listened to the rain and allowed his thoughts to drift back to the night before.

He and Francis walked into the dorm room. It was a simple environ to be sure. Matthew had only a poster of a Renoir painting on one wall, a desk with a laptop and shelf stuffed with books and art supplies by the window, and a bed. As dorm room beds go it was, unusual. Dresser drawers were underneath so the mattress was at waist height, but this allowed much of the room to be empty space, garnished only by a fuzzy Canadian flag rug on the floor. Matthew preferred a Spartan space.

Matthew walked to the window and opened it to allow a breeze. He wanted the cool night spring air to fill the room and chase out the smell of paints and philosophy textbooks. He turned and took the bag of ice from Francis and made an ice pack for himself out of the grocery sack, and then set the extra bag on a pile of towels in his laundry basket. He then sat down on the rug and leaned against the dresser. Francis seemed unsure of himself or what to do. He looked like a man standing at a strange crossroad without a map. Matthew could guess what he was thinking.

"I've forced you to make a decision haven't I." Matthew mumbled closing his eyes.

"You haven't forced me to do anything. I am my own person. I do my own thing Matthew."

"You have always been a free spirit."

Francis walked to the window and looked out. Matthew opened his eyes at the padding of bare-feet across the carpet and then the tiles at the window. The streetlights from the parking lot outside provided plenty of light for the tiny room and spared Matthew's eyes from the harsh light and hum of the florescent lights. Francis leaned with both hands at the window sill. Matthew allowed his eyes to trace his body. His arm muscles rippled and his hair was a bit stringy with sweat from the night's events. He wore a black tank with jeans; shoes and brown leather jacket abandoned at the door.

"To be free is to be alone." Matthew murmured quietly.

"I've never...I've always been this way. Those I cherish, I will protect, respect, and be loyal to. What your asking is...You know I believe sex is simply biological and...only taints relationships. Removes them further from true connection."

Matthew was silent. Francis knew Matthew disagreed. They knew each other that well at least.

"These cosmic things you believe Matthew. These things beyond that bright line of reason: Love...soul...true beauty. They are myths. They don't exist. Child fairy tales..."

"I'm not asking you to clap your hands." Matthew smiled. Francis smiled at the Peter Pan reference.

"But you are asking. You are asking a great deal of me Matthew." Francis turned and stared at Matthew. The hand which clenched the window sill betrayed the stress which Francis attempted to disguise by hiding the other in his back pocket.

"I guess, I believe in you."

Francis shifted uncomfortably, his eyes made a tour of the room. "Meaning is something you create. I simply chose to put no meaning in sex."

"Is not the body more than clothes, the flesh more than food?"

"You quote the bible to an existentialist?"

"Religion may be or it may not be, but it often comes close to capturing the essence of what is." Matthew waved a hand and shook his head, "You dodged my point." Matthew stood up and sat on the bed, leaning his back against the cool wall.

"No. I got it Matthew." Francis looked outside once more and then sighed. Matthew sensed his new strategy. He was going to drag this out, probably indefinitely. "It's late..." Francis sighed.

Matthew had to move fast. He had come too far not to give this everything he had. For the second time that night, it was time for Matthew to take a stand.

This time Matthew acted not out of some gut reaction, but out of choice and sheer determination. No longer was he the passive onlooker. It was time to be a thrown stone and make waves in this pond.

"You know I see it in your eyes sometimes. I saw it the moment you first laid eyes on me." Francis' eyes widened. Matthew put down the ice pack. "You call me often. You want me to be a friend...perhaps your closest friend. I think I always knew that." Matthew stood. "But I don't want to be another member of your friend group. I want to be the center of your universe. I don't want someone to fuck. I want to unmake you every night...and remake you every morning."

"The ship..." Francis breathed in amazement, "it's...it's me." He walked to the other side of the room, both hands in his hair. He turned back to Matthew, "You're my Theseus then?" Francis laughed not in jest but in wonder. Matthew took a step toward him. Francis shrank back, against the door.

"You were right about what you said earlier. I am asking a great deal of you. But I will only ask once and you only have to give one answer."

Matthew put his hand on the door next to Francis' face, "You have this moment to decide."

He smiled at the realization that Francis was few centimeters shorter. A detail he had missed before. Matthew lowered his voice to a whisper and with his other hand lightly tilted Francis' chin up. "Indeed, you have every moment of everyday to decide, because at every moment you are torn apart and reassembled." He moved closer. "But I'm only giving you one chance at this." The air seemed to tingle with charged energy. Francis' breathing increased while Matthew continued to breathe long, slow, and calm.

Francis looked down, "You were also right earlier. I've wanted you from the moment we met. But I've also just wanted...wanted to be with you." Francis' hands twitched, desiring out of instinct to close the gap between them, "I love to speak French, admire art, and talk-"

Matthew suddenly felt as if a tsunami of lava had overtaken him. He sensed that a decision had been made. His heart began to pound against his rib cage and he no longer felt need to restrain himself for dramatic decency. Matthew closed the gap. His body now taut against the other man's. Matthew let his fingers explore Francis' hair, while the other hand sought his waist. Francis words were choked in a gasp at the sudden breach of space.

"Your stalling Francis..."

"If I kiss you..."

Matthew's lips were already exploring Francis' neck and wondering at the beauty of muscles, tendons, and smooth creamy skin. "When you kiss me..." he murmured in his ear.

"I'll be...different. And I'll be...lost." Francis' hands swept up Matthew's chest to his head and pulled him up to face him, "I'll be lost."

"Are you sure you won't be found?" Matthew suddenly noticed that Francis was trembling. Was he nervous? The champion of one-night-stands himself? Mr. Attention nervous of the invisible phantom? _Be brave Francis_, he thought in wonder. Matthew's hands were sent to his waist pulling him closer and drinking in his skin.

"One way to find out." Francis whispered.

They kissed.

They kissed, and the world subsequently burst into flame.


	20. Spontaneous Change

Tra la la! More Franada. Lao Tzu is the quote. Enjoy!

* * *

_Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them - that only creates sorrow._

Alfred and Arthur were washing up dishes and the chore was swiftly descending into some kind of water battle; namely Arthur trying to do something useful and Alfred providing unhelpful distraction. Francis watched with detached amusement.

"You wanker-those dishes are to be dried!"

"I am drying them." Alfred was spinning two coffee mugs between his fingers in either hand.

"Shaking them about the room is not drying!"

Alfred set them down before dutifully returned to drying, for a few moments anyway and then promptly made form to throw a plate Frisbee style when Arthur snatched it away.

"Hopeless. You're hopeless."

Then Alfred dipped his fingers into the washing and splashed Arthur.

"I've just about had it with you!" Arthur began thwapping Alfred with a dish rag, and Alfred responded with his trade mark roaring of laughter.

Francis slipped out of the kitchen back into the living room. He watched Matthew, quietly breathing. Strange how different the world seemed today. Cliché that it would be raining. If ever a day in his life needed a metaphor of cleansing and renewal it was today. Francis certainly felt renewed at least. Overnight, Matthew had wrested himself from the edge of Francis' dreams to the center of his awareness.

It began this morning. Francis woke next to Matthew, one arm thrown around his naked waist. He groaned at the pain in his ass. After the third round Francis had lost count...five?six? Merde. Matthew, bless his heart, was sleeping peacefully. He turned to see the clock on the desk: 6am. Merde. He had always been a morning person and was therefore cursed to rise at the time he woke up. It helped when he needed to make a quick getaway, especially in the girls' dormitories. Ah, but of course that was now a past life for him. Matthew had given him one chance to make this relationship work, and after everything that had happened...he wanted to try.

He thought back to the moment when Matthew had stood from the bed and started walking towards him. Matthew's aura, had filled the room. He was right about this man having complete control over his level of presence. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. How powerfully charismatic Matthew could be should he ever care to have influence over others. Instead, he used it to freeze Francis in his tracks, and then to drive him wild. The lamb turns lion after dark.

Francis got up and slipped on his jeans, shirt, shoes, and grabbed a bath towel and a bottle of Matthew's shampoo next to the hamper. He looked back at Matthew, walked over and kissed him on the forehead, "I'll return," he whispered. He showered and then came back. Even after trying to make the shower last as long as he could, it was still 7am and Matthew was sleeping soundly. Francis collected his jacket, and one of Matthew's umbrellas, left the door unlocked, and decided to fetch his vespa from The Cave.

He found it where he left it, along with his black and white kafiya and helmet. He slipped the scarf on and the helmet. He rode it to his dorm where he parked it under the overhang next to the other motorbikes, then walked to the center of campus to pick up some breakfast. The umbrella came in handy as the rain picked up strength. Along the way his thoughts kept floating to last night. He hadn't felt so nervous about having sex with anyone. Even his first could not compare to last night. Perhaps it was because he was so surprised at Matthew's initiation. Or maybe it was because Francis had never bottomed for anyone, as a rule, before him. Maybe he had never felt so vulnerable in his life, or so responsible.

Francis knew what it was, as much as he hated to admit it. He wanted it to be so good for Matthew, that he doubted his own ability to deliver such an experience. He had never "made love," as they say, to such an extraordinary person. Instead, Matthew had showered him with gentle affection and seduction. And Francis had groaned into the sheets all night long. Matthew deserved more. Much more. More than anything Francis could give him. Francis' mood darkened.

_I'm the ship._ Francis reminded himself. Each day is a new chance at meaning. Francis raised his eyes to the sky. No. He didn't want to just try at this relationship...he wanted...to just be there for Matthew. Always. The permanence of the word hovering in his brain startled him and he shook his head. From now on, all his time with Matthew would be full of meaning for Francis. At that second, his whole being seemed to connect to the man, though they were apart. His brain lodged something of a compass pointing back to the bed where Matthew lay sleeping. He knew that for as long as they were together, and perhaps even after, Francis would always feel pulled to return to him. The second the two croissants and crate of coffees were acquired from the cafe, he turned and for the first time, this dreary American campus felt like home.

And then after all that realization, he almost threw it all away. The time was 8:30. He must have spent more time walking and thinking then he had anticipated. He sauntered into the room without knocking (lack of hands will do that), saw that Matthew was sitting up in bed, and began to chat with him. He was giddy and eager to begin this new endeavor.

"Ah Matthew, you are awake. I went to retrieve my Vespa from the ill-repute of our beloved Cave. Not only was it there but the local thieves left my helmet and my scarf. Also, I have brought you croissants from our fine campus cafe and coffee. I also thank you for the use of your bath towel as I managed to shower as well-" He turned and just caught Matthew wiping his eyes. The man looked away as if nothing happened. Francis crossed the room, sat on the bed and stared at Matthew. He continued to try to look away. Francis was distracted for a moment by Matthew's profile. Without his glasses, Matthew looked years younger.

"Matthew look at me." Matthew hesitated, and then turned. Sure enough his pale blue eyes were red and watery. Francis felt panicked. All that time deciding to be with Matthew- what if he called it off? What if he thought Francis was too unreliable? What if he suspected that Francis had left sometime in the night to go stay with someone else? He hoped not...not even Francis had any stamina left after last night. Francis was suddenly desperate. Maybe he had no right, and maybe, maybe he didn't deserve someone like this but...how could he go back? Regardless, he would do anything to save it now.

They looked at each other for a moment and then Francis, overwhelmed with what to do or say simply kissed Matthew. Deeply. Again and again, pulling him close, then pushing him down onto the bed. He felt Matthew's tears on his own face. When they continued to fall, he finally pulled away and looked at him again.

"You thought I left you." Matthew looked at the ceiling and nodded. After a beat replied in his usual quiet way, "The tears are a new feature, and were unexpected. They started the moment you walked in the door." Another beat, Matthew turned on his side facing the wall. "I guess I wasn't surprised you weren't here. I was just surprised you came back. I thought there would be no way you would..."

"Would what?" Francis breathed. His ears burned he could hardly believe what he was hearing. Matthew shrugged and sighed. His voice still in remarkable contrast with the water works of his eyes.

"Come back for me, I guess."

Francis swore. If anyone else had been responsible for these words, or making Matthew weep, he would have done them violence. Instead, he had only himself to blame, "It's my fault Matthew. I haven't given you any reason to trust me, nor did I think ahead. I could have left a note, or called, or..." Gentle fingers stopped his lips. "I forgave you the moment you walked in the door. The croissants are a bonus though. Thanks."

All of this and it ends with thanks? Francis was still angry. The feeling was boiling inside him. How could he have let this happen? He was really an idiot. "But Matthew it should be me thanking you."

Matthew smiled. The tears had stopped but the eyes were still soupy. "Oh yes?" Francis began pulling the sheets away from Matthew's naked body, they would be in the way soon. He leaned and whispered into Matthew's neck. "For my new design, Theseus."

Francis walked over to Matthew's place on the couch. Even now he could feel that compass in his brain pointing towards him. Still too much space between them. He bent and kissed him lightly on the mouth.

"Is this the part where I wake to meet prince charming?" Matthew mumbled.

"It's the part where I ask you how your head is feeling."

Matthew shrugged, "I've had worse. Ask my little brother."

Francis sighed, "Such a childhood I will never understand." He moved to go sit at the coffee table when Matthew caught his hand. "You're beating yourself up about this morning. It was just a misunderstanding. Let it go."

"I don't know. If our misunderstandings end with me getting to top, maybe we should have them more often." Matthew lifted the icepack and scowled and Francis who grinned back at him. "I've never bottomed for anyone before. That might just be the last time you get that chance." Francis turned and began to slide himself onto the couch, pressing Matthew into the cushions and letting his lips wander to Matthew's neck. Matthew tried to suppress a laugh without much success.

"Ooo la la. This sounds like a challenge."

"Hey you two lovebirds. This is a family show. Like literally. That's my family and I don't want to see him making out with a creepy French dude on my couch."

"Actually darling, that's my piece of furniture you are referring to."

"Right. But I distinctly remember you saying something about no Frogs on the couch."

"Well if it wasn't a rule before it's about to become one in the next thirty seconds."

Matthew and Francis looked up with flushed faces and both stifled their laughter. Francis arose from the couch and sat down at the coffee table. "'ow about some coffee to go with zis table." He responded in English.

"There is no coffee in this Gentleman's apartment good sir."

"Instant ok?" Alfred replied. "Got some in my bag. Be back in a jiffy. Anyone else? Mattie?"

"Sure, I'll have some."

Arthur sighed his defeat.


	21. My Love

Cheers everyone! Thanks to all of you for reading. This is technically the final chapter but don't change that channel, kids. Stay tuned for the Epilogue and intro to my up coming (and yet to be named) sequal!

* * *

_From this day to the ending of the world,_  
_But we in it shall be remembered-_  
_We few, we happy few..._

After Alfred delivered three cups of coffee, the four settled in their respective places on the couch and floor. Arthur felt impatience gnawing at his gut. Although his head was still foggy from the onslaught of alcohol the night before, his heart twirled. How did this happen? His whole life, Arthur had been a practical realist. There were no unicorns or flying mint bunnies. Least of all, especially for the modern homosexual, there was no such thing as a prince charming. One had to acknowledge flaws and shortcomings of others. And now there was Alfred, now in his house and in his life. Full of flaws and shortcomings. Alfred talked too much. He moved with too much energy. Laughed too loudly. Too much. Perhaps the hang over was part of it, but Arthur sensed that he would be forever overwhelmed by this man.

_Forever overwhelmed._ Arthur smiled at the thought. For all of that, why did Arthur have this wonderful feeling that fairytale beasts might suddenly appear?

"Now let's get to it." Arthur ended the smatterings of banter between Alfred and Francis. "I want to know how Alfred ended up here, Matthew getting hurt, and Francis bedding Matthew."

Matthew blushed and averted his gaze.

"I knew it!" Alfred gave a fist pump.

"I am confused. Did not you two bed each other as well?" Francis pointed out. Alfred's turn to blush. Arthur was surprised to see him embarrassed and was briefly distracted by his face. Arthur, for his part, ignored the assertion and carried on.

"The last I remember was this fool dragging me to a party I had no intention of attending."

"Ah yes, zis was part of the plan. Alfred and I had conspired prior to the party."

"Conspired to do what exactly?" Arthur's eyes narrowed.

Alfred and Francis shared a look.

* * *

Francis pulled Arthur along. The man was complaining the entire time. Francis' only job was to see that Arthur attend the party and drink as much as possible. At first it went poorly. Besides the initial swig of his pre-made concoction (the recipe for which he received from a young gypsy in Paris), Arthur was doing his best to avoid the booze.

Then he noticed Arthur's eyes settling on Alfred. Alfred was in the middle of the dance throng, completely oblivious to their arrival. Arthur switched his sober intention to drunken nonchalance. He began by stealing some poor student's drink, and then began to pound down beers from the keg. Perfect. Francis sent a text to Alfred. The stage was set.

Alfred checked his phone and then slipped quietly off the dance floor. Francis saw Arthur watch Alfred disappear into a back room.

The music faded and the lights dimmed. Francis moved Arthur to a chair at the bar.

A live beat began from a drum set. Blue lights silhouetted the drummer and a figure standing at a microphone.

A chord struck by a piano began simultaneously with a voice. Spotlights shone down on Alfred at the microphone.

* * *

Arthur shuddered as the memory was slowly filed in place. The room turned pitch black and then suddenly drumming began. Spotlights ignited the stage and there stood Alfred clutching a microphone stand. He was wearing the outfit he was wearing now, a simple white t-shirt and blue jeans, but he wore his glasses, and an American flag wristband.

_Give me a second I...I need to get my story straight._

He was signing some popular song Arthur was only mildly familiar with, but Arthur was transfixed by Alfred's voice. He could sing.

_My lover he's waiting for me just across the bar_

A spotlight suddenly illuminated the seats where Arthur and Francis sat. Did Alfred just say 'he's waiting for me'? Isn't the original a 'she'?

_My seats been taken by some 'sunglasses' asking 'bout a scar and_

Arthur looked over at Francis. He was indeed wearing some awful sunglasses, but also sipping some giant blue drink. Arthur looked back at the stage and Alfred gave them...no just Francis...the finger. Francis responded by holding up two fingers in a peace sign- and then crudely licking between them.

_I know I gave it to you months ago. I know your trying to forget._

Arthur never felt so embarrassed in his life. He would have to drink quite a bit to forget this night. He yanked the blue drink out of Francis' hand and downed it as fast as he could.

The song continued in some dramatic way. Voices were added and the beat slowed. There were the two Germans—Gilbert providing the effects at the DJ station and the long-haired one playing the piano. The drummer was the southern Italian with the permanent sour disposition. Later, female voices were added by Elizaveta, Gil's girlfriend, a small blonde girl, and the other Italian who was a good friend of Kiku.

The spotlight on Arthur and Francis faded at some point during the song and Arthur left before the end. His embarrassment had turned to a cold fury that was quickly warming. He walked away from the stage. From people. From that wonderful voice pounding into his brain. He saw in the corner a darkened room. There. That is where he should go. It looked quiet and full of peace.

"Zat is when you walked to the coat room. I predicted you were angry. But I was wrong."

"Really?" Arthur furrowed he brow. He certainly remembered the anger.

"You were not angry. You were...how do you say...enraged?"

Alfred nodded, almost fondly. Arthur groaned with shame.

Francis wandered into the coat room and saw Arthur—tearing the place apart. He was pulling coat racks down, tossing bags, and kicking random articles. The bouncer, some boy from Denmark, was watching in amusement. He sat on a folding chair legs outstretched and hands resting on his head.

"Why don't you do something?!" Francis glared at him. The bouncer grinned. "Why deprive me of my entertainment? He hasn't actually broken anything or anyone. When he does, I'll step in."

_When he does...not if he does?_

True to prediction, Arthur spun around wildly and pushed over another coat rack and shouted in rage. Blond hair sticking to a sweaty brow, green eyes flashing left and right.

"You his friend?" The bouncer asked.

"Alas. Zis is my curse." Francis ran a hand through his hair. _The things I do for friendship._ He thought.

"Then he's all yours. I'm not going hands on till someone gets hurt. This is way too good."

"Merci." Francis mutter glumly.

Arthur stumbled back over a couple of coat racks and fell among a pile of coats. Francis stepped over and helped him up. When Arthur finally recognized him, he pushed him away.

"'sall yer fault you bloody-frog."

"What is Arthur?"

"Now he's...he's made fun of me in front of everyone. He hates me. How did he know?"

"What are you talking about?"

"The singing. How did he know?"

"Who is he?" Francis was hoping to distract him by getting him to focus on Alfred, as opposed raging against a respectable Frenchmen. Well...a Frenchmen at least.

"You. You musthavetold him." Arthur pointed a finger next to where Francis stood. Arthur's eyes refocused and he moved his finger to where Francis actually stood.

"I. Hate. You."

Francis sighed and ran a hand through his hair again. He looked back to see the inevitable crowd now formed since the song had ended. He checked his watch and scanned the crowed. Alfred should be here any minute...

"I HATE YOU!" Arthur shouted. There was a sound of metal scraping against concrete. Francis turned to see him pick up an extra metal folding chair. His body jolted in preparation for the impact and his eyes closed instinctively. Instead of from the front however, the impact came from the side, and it wasn't metal at all. All in the same second there came a sickening THWACK of metal against bone, followed by a thud. He stumbled and spun wildly back around. Francis turned to see a body crumpled on the floor. Recognition brought the feeling of ice in his veins.

"Matthew."

Arthur remembered the moment now and buried his head in his hands. The shame burned through his skin. How could he have behaved like such a madman? There was no excuse. How had he not been arrested? The four men sat in silence for a beat.

"Zat was probably the scariest moment of my life."

"I dunno. I've seen him like that loads of times." Alfred grinned. Matthew's eyes narrowed. Alfred back pedaled, "Not that I wasn't worried big-bro! That was a lot of blood to be sure."

Matthew sighed.

"Matthew I...I can't begin...I'm so..." Arthur couldn't look him in the eyes. How could he hold his head up in public every again?

Arthur noticed a shrug out of the corner of his eyes, "I don't remember it, but apparently I used the moment wisely."

"How so?" Arthur asked in sudden curiosity. Matthew looked at Francis, who looked suddenly embarrassed.

The bouncer leapt into action and started to restrain Arthur. Arthur for his part ceased all tirade and stood frozen. He stared with his mouth agape at Matthew's motionless form.

Francis knelt next to Matthew and placed a hand on his shoulder. He saw blood splattered on the concrete. For a moment nothing happened and Francis feared the worst. Then the man stirred and moved as if to get up. Francis turned him around and pulled his head and shoulders into his arms. Blood flowed from a gash in his forehead.

"Apportez une serviette," Francis blurted in French before shaking his head and closing his eyes, concentrating on his English, "Bring a towel!" he shouted. In a moment someone passed him a towel and he pressed it to the man's head. For a moment Matthew's eyes didn't focus. Then they landed on Francis and he smiled weakly.

The bouncer seeing that Arthur was frozen in shock against the wall, and that Matthew was alive and moving, turned to the crowd which was hovering over the dramatic scene. "Alright people, the show is over. Go back to the party. We'll get these guys taken care of." Just then Gilbert started another song and despite the many moans and groans the people gradually trickled back to the dance floor.

"So you're ok then, eh?" Matthew smiled

"Am I ok? Am I ok?!" Francis exploded into a series of French curses. Matthew held up a hand and responded with a curse of his own.

"Calice. Be quiet."

"Matthew why did-"

"En français s'il vous plaît." Matthew asked gently. Francis was silent for a moment and then said in French. "Why did you do that?"

Matthew's smile faded a bit and he looked to the ceiling for an answer. When the hesitancy grew to long, Francis tried to joke a bit, "You know, I'll have to rewrite my entire philosophy paper because of you."

"What was the topic?"

"Altruism. I argued against it. That was before I met a person who would take a metal chair to the head for me for no reason."

"No you don't have to change your paper." Matthew pressed a shaky hand to Francis' hand which held the towel to his head. "I may have acted a bit spontaneously but...I have a reason. You might even say... I have every reason..." Matthew's eyes locked with Francis and Francis saw his meaning clear as daylight. Matthew reached up and brushed trembling fingertips against his cheek.

Francis knew in that moment that Matthew would challenge every one of his beliefs.

At that moment, Alfred burst into the coat room and knelt next to Matt. He still wore his concert outfit but now had his backpack slung over one shoulder.

"I just got the news-Mattie?! Are you ok?"

"I'm fine. I've had worse." Matt made an attempt to sit up, but Francis wouldn't have it. Matt made a thumbs up sign and winked at Alfred. Alfred in turn nodded. Francis could tell it was some kind of message but it seemed to mean more than just 'I'm ok.' Alfred turned to Francis.

"Take care of my brother, or I will personally beat the holy hell out of you."

Francis nodded. "I suppose it's the least I could do."

Alfred walked over to the bouncer.

"I'll take care of the Brit."

"Dude, he's all yours."

Arthur looked at Alfred.

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to take you home."

"Ah, home. Where's home? Here in the States? BackinEngland?"

Arthur shrank back against the wall. Alfred gently reached for Arthur's hand and then guided it to Alfred's chest. "This is your home. But you won't know that till the morning. For now let's get you back to your apartment." Arthur nodded in wide-eyed wonder, then followed Alfred meekly out the door.

The four men sat in silence. True silence as the rain had abated. Outside, streams of sunlight were piercing gray clouds.

Alfred was the first to speak.

"So, yeah. That's basically how it happened. Francis threw me into Gil's band and we were hoping that I would somehow romance you with my voice. The plan was for me to end the song with me standing in front of you...but you left. Then after I heard about Matthew and Arthur in the coat room I rushed over there. Then seeing that Mattie was like all-state I took you home."

"What do you mean like allstate?" Arthur asked.

"He was 'in good hands.'" Blank stares. "Like the commercials? Get it?" More blank stares. "Ah foreigners." Alfred waved the comment away and turned to Arthur, "And for the record I was totally going to sleep on the couch...until you convinced me otherwise." Arthur groaned, this time burying his head in a pillow.

"'Who is talking like a ruffian now?" Francis teased.

"It's only creepy if you talk about it." Alfred justified.

"You only make rules for others and not yourself? Typical American." Francis scoffed.

"Hey whoa-more fightin' words? Wanna go pretty man?"

"Only if there is pinot involved."

Matthew ribbed Francis. "Oui!" He yelped and turned and clambered onto the couch embracing the blond boy. "I think I will 'ave pinot with zis man instead."

"No pinot necessary actually."

"Oh?"

Matthew whispered into Francis' ears. Francis laughed and kissed him lightly on the mouth before turning to Alfred and Arthur.

"Theseus says there is no more time. We must depart anon."

"Ugh. Fine get outta here. Just cut out the gross nick-names and sweet nothings and PDA."

"I cannot 'elp zat you are jealous."

Alfred plugged his ears and closed his eyes and repeated:"family show...family show..."

Francis and Matthew arose from the couch. Arthur stood.

"Uh Francis...Matthew." For a moment they all stood and looked at each other awkwardly. "I really am...very sorry for my behavior. I...I hope I can make it up to the both of you one day."

Francis gave Arthur a hard look and then it softened. He sighed. "Perhaps you already 'ave." The two said their goodbyes and Arthur walked them to the door. Not a second after he closed the door Alfred's arms were around him.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. He felt heat rise to his cheeks. His mind was still reeling at the wonders that brought those arms to him. "You remember our prior agreement of course?"

"Yup. No sexy times and no driving each other crazy-although you do that every time you look at me."

"And you every time you touch me..." Arthur mumbled under his breath.

"Wait what?" Alfred turned Arthur around, his hands resting on his waist. "Please don't ask me not to touch you..." He moved a hand to Arthur's face, his thumb lightly brushing his lips. Their eyes met and Arthur's heart resumed its usual race-pace tempo that had always accompanied Alfred's presence.

"If you're good...then I'll allow it." Alfred relaxed and smiled.

"Oh I won't just be good. I'll be the best you've ever had. Promise."

This promise somehow made Arthur sad. With every obstacle and challenge Alfred met and conquered to get this far with Arthur it made him more nervous. If he failed his promise or left...Arthur shuddered. They had not even been together for a complete day and he was already facing the difficulty of imagining life without Alfred.

"Well if you promise, then might as well seal the deal."

"Seal how?"

"A kiss you idiot."

Alfred smiled and kissed Arthur. Their lips met and their bodies collided lightly. Alfred parted Arthur's lips and drew Arthur deeper into the kiss, their tongues happily jousting for dominance. Arthur's hands wound themselves in Alfred's hair while Alfred's hands wondered lower...and lower...

Finally, Arthur broke the kiss, "That's...that's enough my love."

Alfred nodded slightly breathless. Then he blushed.

"Say that again...please."

"What?"

Alfred stared hard into Arthur's green eyes.

"Oh," Arthur brushed a hand through Alfred's hair and placed another on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart. "Enough, my love."

Maybe, just maybe, life without Alfred would remain forever a hypothetical notion.


	22. World's End

Sorry this took forever, but I hope you all enjoyed!

* * *

_From this day, to the ending of the world..._

Although the trees still boasted their green, a brisk chill in the breeze beckoned the inevitability of fall. This change was also vindicated by the return of prodigal students to the college. The college library was busier then it had been for the last few months and already the increased humanity, along with their inane chatter, were starting to irk a certain British student library assistant. The silence of the bookshelves had been something of a haven for the man, especially since he was now an item with oh-so-happy-and-handsome Alfred.

It wasn't that Arthur was unhappy. No it definitely wasn't that. Alfred was... well stupendous really. It was just, well Arthur wasn't used to going steady...

Where to begin?

Arthur finally holed himself deep within the stacks, archiving dusty tomes removed only for professors who had ingratiated themselves with their contents, allowed his thoughts to scamper across the memories of his summer. Arthur and Alfred set a date to lift their 'no-sex-nor-ecessive-snogging' agreement on the Fourth of July. It was somewhat convenient date since it was not only the country's national holiday, but also Alfred's birthday. All things considered, he and Alfred did rather well. No sex meant Arthur had to explore, via trial and error, social interaction and old fashioned romance. Thankfully, Alfred was always touched at attepmpts; whether Arthur burnt the dinner, bought tickets to 'way-too-freaking-scary' horror flick, or played music that was "lame," although how the Ting Tings could be lame Arthur had no idea. The time also gave Alfred a chance to ask millions and millions of questions. They never ceased actually, and they were always asked with the same utter excitement- no matter if it were saucy details about his past boyfriends or his favorite cheese. Alfred wanted to know everything, and he seemed constantly starstruck and pleasantly non-judgmental, except where the Ting Tings were concerned...and maybe his hobby of embroidery.

The whole idea of going steady amused Arthur. Especially since Arthur could only handle Alfred in small doses. The longer he was with the boy, the deeper he would find himself in a daze. He had come to terms with his own deep set cynicism years ago, but to face his very own prince-charming day in and day out, well it was very difficult for him to not start searching for a 'catch'. The life he was living compared with the life he deserved was so drastically dissimilar that the library became the place for him to digest this new sing-song life.

The weeks leading up to the fourth were not as completely torturous as he expected. They were lovely and torturous. Naturally the already palpable tension became something of an issue. At first Alfred and Arthur took well to distractions and dates. Long walks in the park, movies, visits to live concerts and plays, eating out. Conversations came both awkwardly and easily. Neither of their brains seemed wired for anything anyone would call 'usual'. They would be just as likely to be talking hypothetical situations as politics, family, or silly words. Once they passed a whole hour discussing how Alfred might escape a flock of carnivorous zombie ducks. After a while, the date of the fourth began to cast a heavy shadow on all of their activities. They would catch each other staring. Arthur tended to make lewd comments to make Alfred blush. Alfred's hands tended to gravitate to Arthur more and more. Still, Arthur thought they both did very well, considering Arthur salivated every time he laid eyes on the boy.

They almost broke the agreement a week before. Arthur had just finished washing up in the shower and walked out of the water closet with only a towel wrapped around his waist, and there was Alfred standing there in the hallway, barefoot and without his glasses, between Arthur and his bedroom.

"What are you doing here?" Arthur tried to play as if nothing was unusual. The reality of it however was his heart just exploded in both fright and hope. Fright that Alfred would be somehow be displeased with what he saw. Hope: hope that they could somehow pass this test. And also a hope that they wouldn't...

Alfred just stared with his mouth agape. His eyes did two up-downs before he formed words.

"Book...forgot...Forgot my book." Alfred waved a book, but continued to stare.

"Wonderful. Glad you found it. Now if you'll excuse me..."Arthur made to pass by, but Alfred put a hand on his waist and gently stopped him. His face wondered close to Arthur's. Arthur pulled back- fearing the slippery slope. The wall prevented his retreat. Alfred's lips landed gently on Arthur's neck and Arthur could feel the heat spread from his face down his neck.

For a moment this was their only contact, lips on skin. Their bodies were carefully not touching. Arthur noticed he was holding his breath. He couldn't say how long they were paused like that. It felt like a lifetime. Then he felt the brush of Alfred's finger tips against his bare back.

"Your so...perfect." Alfred murmured against Arthur's neck. Arthur knew Alfred meant well, but he had a hard time believing his words.

"I want to do you so hard." Alfred said in a raspy voice. Well...that part he could believe.

Arthur shivered at the thought and felt his whole body react.

"Every night...you're in my dreams." The boy continued.

Nope. This had to stop. Arthur looked to the bedroom door and tried to escape. Strong hands prevented his departure from the wall. Ice blue eyes met green.

"Please stop." Arthur asked. It was a statement. He knew that if Alfred continued, however, it would be repeated, as a plead.

"I hear the groans from that night.."

"No..."

"And I re-live that time...again and again."

"Stop..."Arthur looked at his feet. He was now pleading.

"I love you so much." Alfred kissed him in that chaste way on his forehead. Arthur sighed and relaxed. A condition response as Alfred always did this when he was about to walk away. It was a ploy however to make Arthur look up. That's when Alfred kissed him.

He had never kissed Arthur that fiercely. Alfred squeezed his ass and tugged loose the towel. Arthur could no longer hide his arousal or want. He returned the kiss and released his fingertips on Alfred's chest. However, the moment was both too-short and too-long because in the next instant, Alfred tore away from the now naked Arthur and ran down the tiny hallway and out of the apartment. Arthur was breathless for sometime before realizing who and where he was.

From the fourth of July, well actually the evening of July third (he shook his head to dislodge the images flooding his brain from that marvelous night) to the present moment-his ass had yet to stop aching. Arthur had never met anyone who even came close to his own sexual appetite, much less surpass him. Arthur could not remember sleeping through a full night for the first two weeks they had started having sex. In so many ways, it was like how he imagined a honeymoon might be like. Alfred, although awkward with inexperience, made up for a lot in his eagerness and gentle care. He was sweet but struggled with impatience. Arthur was learning how to balance his boyfriend on what he referred to as 'the brink.' After Alfred was pushed over...well it would only be a matter of seconds before Arthur would be groaning Alfred's name.

Yes, Arthur now had a wild sex life with his very own prince-charming. So what was the catch? Was this happily ever after? Arthur's instincts churned. Even in his best relationships, there was always something lurking. Arthur shook his head. Perhaps he was just paranoid. The only thing he came up with was the simple matter that he was only in America with a student visa, and what would happen after he graduated well, that was anyone's guess.

Arthur placed the last book from the cart onto the shelf. Shelving books was one of those soothing activities that lulled Arthur back into peace. Alfred was many things, but last thing he brought into Arthur's life was anything calm. Arthur returned the cart to the front desk and checked the return shelf. Nothing. Arthur sighed. A freshman work-study student was already manning the front-desk, so he decided to skip out and slip into the cafe. On such a slow day, no one who deny the senior his afternoon tea time.

After selecting his tea of choice, his newspaper, and settling into his usual haunt in the corner table by the window, Francis burst into the cafeteria shattering the carefully cultivated zen from the morning's shelving.

"Arthur, there you are! I 'ave been calling you! I 'ave ze greatest news."

"For whom? Me? You? Matthew? The world?"

"For myself of course! Why else would I select you to be the first to hear?"

"Why else indeed," Arthur muttered, rolled his eyes and took a fortifying sip of tea. No doubt this would take some time.

"Matthew has agreed to be my life partner!"

Francis may as well have punched Arthur in the stomach. The news took him so much by surprise that he expelled the tea from his mouth with such force as to mist the entire table and Francis.

Francis reacted with great magnanimity, all things considered, and simply wiped his face with a napkin and continued as if Arthur's reaction had never occurred.

"Is zis not wonderful news?!"

Arthur had so many statements and emotions vieing to leave at once that he completely failed at all communication.

"I-you-what?-You mean-"

"I mean Matthew and I are engaged." Francis could not contain his grin. The man was positively glowing.

"It wouldn't be legal in this state. Wait. Neither of you are citizens anyway..." Arthur finally managed to say something that made some sense.

Francis shrugged. "It does not matter to me if it is legal."

"But you're not religious either."

Francis shrugged again, "It is the symbol and celebration that I want.""

Arthur's hand shot across the table and felt Francis' forehead.

"Are you alright? Is it a fever?"

Francis knocked away his hand.

"I am healthy as ever."

Arthur leaned over and took Francis' face in his hands.

"Who are you and what have you done with Francis?!" Arthur demanded.

Francis pulled his head away to freedom.

"You don't understand. Zis was ze only way I could think to convince him."

"Convince him of what?"

"Zat I am his forever."

The permanence of the word leaving Francis' lips quite literally jolted Arthur.

Francis sighed, "Perhaps I should explain."

Arthur leaned forward, "Oh do tell."

It had taken them longer than expected to get back to campus from the theater due to the traffic. This meant that Francis had to spend an agonizing 30 minutes with Matthew's arms wrapped around his waist and attempt to ignore the wonderful waves of heat that exuded from the body behind him. The idea of seducing the other the second they got back to campus was filling Francis' head, and body. The familiar fire burning inside of him. Again, due to the ride, he had plenty of time to calculate his moves. Of course every moment prior to his initiation was always one of mystery. His advances were rejected almost as often as they were accepted. This made him mad with desire. When the reverse occurred, Francis never had the strength to refuse. He always thirsted for Matthew.

By the time they parked the motorbike, Francis not so much thirsty as ravenous.

Matthew pulled off his helmet and turned to face Francis, his dark blond hair and glasses shining in the last rays of the Saturday's sunshine. He wondered if Matthew would accept his advances this day, or instead deny him. It was always impossible to tell. He slowly slid a hand around Matthew's waist. Matthew smiled. "Will you take me to your room?" Francis asked gently pressing his forehead against Matthew's. The other nodded and took his hand.

Francis had been planning to make a move the moment they walked in but Matthew became suddenly chatty.

"Thanks for taking me to the play. I know it wasn't your favorite." Matthew slipped off his sandals and padded barefoot to open the window and turn on a small fan to suck in fresh evening air. Francis walked up to Matthew from behind and set his lips on his neck, careful to not touch bodies. Something like that would send Francis off the deep end while he was in such a fragile state.

"You're right. I don't remember a thing," he murmured.

Matthew laughed softy and looked down embarrassed.

"Then I'm sorry you wasted the money, and time."

Francis turned Matthew around and moved his hand to Matthew's chin and tilted it up. Matthew blushed. Four months of dating, and as much sex as that time would allow, and tiny gestures like this affected the Canadian the most. Francis suspected it was because Matthew was especially sensitive to subtlety.

"It wasn't that the play was bad. It's that your face was too beautiful. Nothing wasted, believe me."

He moved in to kiss Matthew but Matthew turned his head.

"I thought we agreed." Matthew switched to English, "No lines."

Francis loosed a growl as Matthew pulled away. He was suddenly angry. Matthew and he had made an agreement from the start, that Francis would not use any of his old strategies, pick up lines, or flirting techniques on Matthew. He was to be completely genuine. It was a rare day when Francis accidentally used one, but Matthew was always quick to point it out. These last few weeks however, Francis often spoke truth and Matthew would mistake it for a 'line.'

Matthew walked away and poured himself a glass of water from a pitcher he kept in his mini fridge. In that moment of space, Francis could see plain that something unnamed was growing between the two. In some ways Matthew seemed...colder than he had been before they had dated. No that wasn't it. It was more...guarded. Francis suspected that Matthew was protecting himself, or at least a part of himself from Francis. No. That was it for certain.

Why?

Francis knew why. He had named it their first month. Matthew was biding his time for the day that Francis would betray him. Despite his proclamations of faith, Matthew needed to have a piece of his so-called-soul to fall back on in case Francis tried to take everything else. But Francis wanted every inch of Matthew, soul or otherwise. He recognized this early on. But he also knew that for one such as Matthew, to learn everything would be a life-long endeavor. He recognized this almost immediately.

Today, Francis was prepared. He could only hope that Matthew would believe him, finally.

Matthew turned and walked to the wall beside the door, studying the imitation Monet Francis had given him. Francis could tell from the way he looked to the side and the furrow in his brow that he was about to ask Francis to leave. He had to act quickly.

Francis crossed the floor pushed him gently against the door. "It wasn't a lie," Francis spoke in French. He liked everything better in French, even arguments. Especially arguments. "The play was distracting me the whole time from the true performance."

"Of what- me?"

"The expressions that would dance across your face."

Matthew was silent. No blush. Nothing. His eyes darted to the ground.

Francis could feel something was slipping. It was time to enact his plan. Francis sighed, "I can't go on like this Matthew."

Matthew's gaze snapped up. Francis turned to look out the window. "I just can't see us the way we are anymore." Francis turned back around and there was Matthew standing with the door open.

"Leave." Matthew stated. "You don't have to say anything."

"Matthew?"

"It's ok. Really."

Silence. Francis stared at Matthew. Matthew continued to stare anywhere but at Francis. Matthew switched to English.

"You should leave now. You don't need to explain-I guess I knew you would get tired of me eventually."

"Tired? You mean...bored?"

Matthew shrugged.

"No one sees me, and if they do it's not very long. I'm..." Matthew finally met his gaze, "I'm simple."

Francis could feel the anger rise from the pit of his belly to the crown of his head.

"Matthew. I'm not breaking up with you." Francis took a step closer towards Matthew and switched to French. "I don't see us this way anymore because I want all of you. I can't go on like this because I want commitment."

Francis knelt to the ground on one knee. Matthew gaped at him, mouth open, eyes wide.

"Matthew, will you marry me?"

Matthew slowly closed the door, then leaned against it for support. Slowly he moved a hand to cover his mouth.

Francis pulled out a small pouch from his pocket and poured out a silver ring.

"You do not have to wear it on your ring finger as per tradition. In fact I would prefer you didn't. I don't want you harassed by crazy conservatives. You don't even have to wear it. I just want you to have this as...a symbol. A created meaning between us."

"You would flaunt your beloved Baudrillard?"

"For my beloved, yes."

It was Francis' turn to cover his mouth. He had not intended to use any kind of word such as that. The word love had been so used and abused and its meaning so tainted... The feelings he had for Matthew were of a kind of permanence that he could not yet express. He was not ready to name them. But they were, he knew, permanent. Matthew could not leave without taking a very important part of Francis with him.

Matthew was quick to catch the slip up.

"What did you say?"

"Don't make me say it again. You know how I feel about the office of love."

"And yet here you are asking me to marry you?"

Francis growled, stood up and pressed his body into Matthew's, caressing his face, neck, chest.

"You call it marriage. Would that I could call it proof that I am loyally yours for always."

Tears began to spill from Matthew's eyes. Francis pressed his forehead against Matthew's and whispered.

"When will you ever believe me?"

Matthew removed his glasses and wiped his eyes. "Probably not till you put that ring on my finger."

Francis smiled and took Matthew's hand in his. "It would be my greatest pleasure."

At this point Arthur had buried his head in his hands. Why was the Frenchman so dramatic about everything? Why must he and his boyfriend go to such extremes? Why was it necessary? Plus-how long had they been dating? It must be the same number of months as he and...oh no.

Arthur's head snapped up. He reached across the table and grabbed the blond by the shirt and yanked him close. "Tell me you haven't told Alfred."

Francis wrenched free and made a look of disgust and losed a string of swearwords before commenting, "You 'aven't even congratulated me yet."

"Have you told Alfred."

"I 'aven't told 'im anything."

Arthur sighed with relief.

"Matthew has though."

"No!"

Arthur's mobile vibrated furiously on the table. Call from Alfred.

Arthur's phone continued to the third ring. Either he had it on silent because of his job, or he was avoiding Alfred. Alfred, for his part could barely contain himself. He was so happy at hearing his brother's news that the jitters oozed from his body. Though he had just finished showering from summer football training he felt like he could go for another few hours. He shouldered his phone grabbed his bag from his locker. An envelop slipped out. He stuffed it into his jeans pocket, slammed the locker and walked out.

Arthur answered. Alfred's heart did a couple chest bumps.

"Hello, yes?"

"Arthur! Did you hear? My totally awesome brother is getting hitched to you totally awkward best friend."

"He is most certainly not my best friend. I don't know him. We are currently pleasantly estranged from eachother."

Alfred heard protests from the background and something that sounded like a physical struggle. Alfred ignored this and continued. "Whatever man I think it's totally awesome!"

"Darling you had better expand your vocabulary. You have exploited the words 'totally' and 'awesome' far to many times in the past couple of sentences. I'm finding it difficult to track this conversation."

"I will totally use awesome words as much as I feel like it! America like owns English now."

"Don't be a cliche American-claiming things that aren't yours."

"Are you trying to distract me from my totally awesome idea with trivial politics?"

"Oh no-Alfred if you're going to say what I think you're going-"

"Why don't we get married?! Wouldn't that be so totally great?! Come on Artie! I could be a great partner! You're great at house cleaning, I'm an awesome cook-

"Whatthebloodyhell's wrong with my cooking?!"

"We'd totally be the dream team!"

"NO. We are not talking about this. I'll see you later."

Arthur hung up and Alfred laughed. He loved to rile that guy.

Alfred sighed. He thought of Matthew and Francis and could not quite stave off the jealousy. He should probably broach the subject with Arthur much more delicately. Damnit. He might have to talk to the Frog and get more finesse.

Alfred exited the gym and squinted against the blinding white envelop. It was addressed to Alfred F. Jones in super scrawly handwriting. He ripped open the back and removed the card within.

The front was blank. Inside were printed words:

_Break his heart, or I will break him._

_The Russian_

Alfred froze in his tracks and turned around. He was alone on the sidewalk halfway to Arthur's apartment, and despite the warm day, he shivered.


End file.
